LITERATURE 
IN   THE    SCHOOL 

AIMS,  METHODS  AND  INTEKPKETATIONS 


BY 


JOHN  S.  WELCH 
rt 

Formerly  Supervisor  of  Grammar  Grades, 
Salt  Lake  City  Public  Schools 


SILVEK,  BURDETT   AND   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  BOSTON  CHICAGO 


COPYBKJHT,  1910,  BY 

SILVER,  BURDETT  AND  COMPANY 


rpo  the  children  of  the  East  and  the  West  who 
-   have  been  an  inspiration  in  many  a  reci- 
tation this  volume  is  affectionately  dedicated. 


PEEFACE 

THIS  book  aims  to  suggest  the  purpose  of  litera- 
ture in  the  elementary  school  and  to  aid  the  teacher 
in  its  presentation.  It  aims  to  recognize  the  prob- 
lems of  the  classroom  in  the  teaching  of  literature, 
and  to  give  concrete  illustrations  of  the  method  of 
teaching  particular  selections  as  type  studies.  It 
aims,  too,  to  suggest  a  method  of  study  which  may 
be  suggestive  of  the  teaching  process  in  simpler 
selections  for  grade  work. 

The  author  recognizes  fully  that  all  subjects 
rightly  taught,  whether  cultural  or  industrial,  tend 
to  produce  an  adaptable,  a  reliable,  an  efficient 
worker;  yet  in  every  study  one  of  these  aims  is  more 
dominant  than  the  others.  While  literature  makes 
for  adaptability  and  efficiency  by  setting  up  ideals  of 
thought  and  action,  and  by  its  demands  for  concen- 
trated thought  and  action,  its  emphasis  is  primarily 
upon  reliability  through  its  influence  on  character. 
Literature  of  itself  will  not  develop  character,  but 
it  will  set  up  as  ideals  the  fundamentals  upon  which 
character  is  based. 

The  pedagogy  of  the  day  has  for  its  aim  the  set- 
ting up  of  great  general  principles  and  ideals  which 
must  govern  and  control  the  work  of  the  teacher. 
Its  defect  is  that  it  leaves  the  teacher  who  is  seeking 


6  PREFACE 

aid  in  solving  the  specific  problems  of  the  class- 
room in  a  helpless  or  confused  state  of  mind. 
After  perusing  the  available  books  on  pedagogy, 
the  particular  problems  of  literature,  geography, 
history,  grammar  or  arithmetic  still  remain  un- 
solved. If  this  volume  in  any  essential  way  tends  to 
remedy  this  defect  in  the  realm  of  literature-teach- 
ing, if  it  suggests  a  mode  of  treatment  to  abler 
teachers,  the  author  will  feel  fully  compensated, 
even  though  his  every  step  be  subjected  to  adverse 
criticism. 

Acknowledgment  is  herewith  made  of  indebted- 
ness to  the  many  friends  of  the  profession  who  have 
encouraged  the  work ;  and  especially  to  Col.  Francis 
W.  Parker,  Orville  T.  Bright,  Mrs.  Ella  Flagg 
Young  and  Dr.  Arnold  Tompkins  for  direction,  en- 
couragement and  inspiration,  when,  working  under 
their  leadership,  the  possibilities  of  literature  in 
the  elementary  school  first  dawned  upon  the  writer. 

For  their  many  helpful  suggestions  in  regard  to 
this  book,  thanks  are  due  to  D.  H.  Christensen, 
Superintendent,  Salt  Lake  City  Schools ;  A.  C.  Nel- 
son, State  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction, 
Utah;  Professor  F.  W.  Eeynolds  of  the  University  of 
Utah;  Dr.  Henry  Suzzallo  of  Columbia  University; 
and  Dr.  T.  M.  Balliet  of  the  University  of  New  York. 

The  author  takes  this  opportunity  to  express  his 
indebtedness  to  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Company  for 
permission  to  quote  from  "Robin  Hood,"  by  T. 
Walter  McSpadden;  and  to  Houghton  Mifflin  Com- 
pany for  permission  to  use  "  The  Day  is  Done," 


PREFACE  7 

"The  Challenge  of  Thor,"  and  "King  Eobert  of 
Sicily, "  by  Henry  W.  Longfellow;  "The  Great 
Stone  Face,"  by  Nathaniel  Hawthorne;  "Little 
Bed  Hen,"  by  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney;  and  "The 
Sandpiper,"  by  Celia  Thaxter. 


CONTENTS 
pact  ©tie 


INTRODUCTION:  THE  AIM        

PAGE 
.        11 

CHAPTER 

I.    LITERATURE,  ITS  SCOPE  AND  PURPOSE 

.     20 

II.    SPIRITUAL   ENVIRONMENT   

.    29 

III.    LITERATURE   AND    THE   BEADING    PROBLEM 

.     37 

^y  IV.     METHODS  IN  LITERATURE    
V.    TYPE  STORIES 

.     51 
71 

part 

VI.  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  THE  BEADING  PROBLEM         .        .        .89 

VII.  THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE:  THE  STORY  ANALYZED      .        .110 

VIII.  TYPE  STUDIES:  NATHAN  HALE,  BEGULUS,  PHEIDIPPIDES  .  135 

IX.  CONTRASTED  STUDIES:  THE  SICILIAN'S  TALE    .        .        .  163 

X.  CONTRASTED  STUDIES  (continued) :  SAUL  ....  180 

XI.  CONTRASTED  STUDIES  (continued) :  JOB    ....  207 

XII.  CONTRASTED  STUDIES  (concluded) :  COMPARATIVE  STUDY  .  220 

XIII.    SUPPLEMENTS  A,  B  AND  C 226 

INDEX  .  233 


part  ©ne 

INTRODUCTION:   THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 

THE  American  public  school,  its  best  aims  and 
right  uses,  presents  a  serious  problem  to  every 
right-thinking  American.  It  is  a  problem  yet  to  be 
solved,  but  a  problem  which  demands  defining  and 
to  which  bounds  and  limits  must  be  set.  The  many 
vain  attempts  to  graft  on  to  our  public  school  sys- 
tem the  ideals  and  practices  of  the  Old  World  bear 
witness  to  the  confusion  existing  in  the  minds  of 
educators  as  to  the  real  aim  and  function  of  the 
public  schools  of  this  country.  The  latest  attempt 
to  import  aims  and  ideals  defines  itself  under  the 
caption  of  "  trade  schools. "  That  there  is  much  in 
our  school  life  which  demands  change  is  beyond 
question.  That  an  efficient  man  is  a  worthy  return 
for  money  invested  no  one  will  deny.  That  the 
" trade  school,"  in  connection  with  elementary 
school  work,  equals  efficiency  or  even  approaches  it 
is  a  debatable  proposition.  To  present  the  question 
squarely  it  may  be  permissible  to  make  a  contrast 
between  the  aims  and  ideals  of  the  Old  World  and 
those  of  the  New. 

In  the  Old  World  society  resolves  itself  into  two 
classes,  the  aristocrats  and  the  democrats.  The 


12  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

fundamental  idea  back  of  its  school  systems  is  to 
perpetuate  this  difference.  The  prestige  of  the 
father,  or  the  lack  of  it,  determines  the  status  of 
the  son.  The  occupation  of  the  father  in  a  large 
measure  determines  and  limits  the  ambition  of  the 
son.  The  aim  of  any  school  system  based  upon  such 
an  organization  of  society  is  to  turn  back  to  society 
the  efficient  cobbler,  tinker  or  blacksmith,  as  the  case 
may  be.  From  the  Volkschule  of  Germany  it  is 
utterly  impossible  to  advance  in  a  scholastic  way 
unless  the  work  of  the  school  has  been  supplemented 
by  a  private  tutor.  The  aim  of  the  system  is  to 
produce  a  man  who  can  do  certain  things  efficiently 
in  his  own  set  way.  Such  an  one  lacks  versatility 
and  adaptability.  He  is  a  mechanic  in  his  own  line 
and  in  his  own  way.  In  all  things  else  he  is  hope- 
lessly inefficient. 

The  genius  of  the  American  public  school  is  to- 
tally different.  In  the  Old  World  system  imperial- 
ism is  accorded  place  and  power.  Through  the 
public  school  of  the  New  World  sweep  the  demands 
and  the  spirit  of  a  rational  democracy.  The  neces- 
sity for  universal  education  and  enlightenment  in  a 
government  of  the  people  was  the  determinant  of 
the  American  system  of  public  schools.  Uncon- 
sciously, but  none  the  less  surely,  the  public  school 
system  of  America  was  shaped  and  fashioned  in 
harmony  with  the  law  and  the  spirit  of  evolution. 
The  period  of  infancy  is  the  determinant  in  shaping 
man  to  what  he  is  and  may  be.  The  American  pub- 
lic school  in  its  essential  nature  is  an  institution 


INTKODUCTION  I    THE   POINT   OF   VIEW  13 

which  still  further  prolongs  the  period  of  infancy. 
It  prolongs  the  period  during  which  the  individual 
in  the  process  of  becoming  is  growing  into  a  discov- 
ery and  a  possession  of  himself.  This  discovery, 
this  possession,  determine  his  ambitions  and  set  the 
limits  thereto.  The  tendencies,  capabilities,  possi- 
bilities of  the  individual  himself,  not  the  occupation 
nor  possibilities  of  the  father,  determine  the  place 
which  he  shall  assume  in  the  world's  workshop. 
Herein  is  one  essential  and  fundamental  difference 
between  the  aims  and  purposes  of  imperialism  and 
those  of  democracy. 

The  idea  back  of  the  ' '  trade  school, ' '  in  connection 
with  elementary  school  work,  is  diametrically  op- 
posed to  this  American  idea,  and  therein  lies  its 
weakness  and  its  danger.  It  hastens  the  period  of 
maturity.  It  determines  choice  of  occupation  at  too 
early  a  date.  The  occupation  of  the  father,  or  some 
phase  of  the  industrial  life  of  the  immediate  envi- 
ronment, determines  the  choice,  not  the  discovered 
powers  and  limitations  of  the  individual  himself. 
By  this  process  he  may  become  narrowly  efficient. 
He  will  not  become  versatile  and  adaptable  —  the 
very  mark  and  genius  of  the  American  workman. 
By  this  technical  training  at  too  early  a  date  the 
tendency  is  to  become  more  and  more  a  mere  cog 
in  an  industrial  machine ;  and  the  needs  of  the  mart, 
not  the  rights  of  the  man,  become  the  power  and  the 
genius  which  shape  and  define  American  school  life, 
its  aims  and  ideals. 

Fortunately  for  this  distinctive  idea  in  American 


14  LITEKATUKE   IN    THE   SCHOOL, 

school  life,  the  "  trade  school "  idea  limits  itself  to 
industrial  centers,  dominated  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent by  foreign  influences  and  prejudiced  by  Old 
World  ideals  and  experiences.  It  finds  little  re- 
sponsive echo  in  the  American  consciousness,  nor 
will  it  become  the  determining  idea  back  of  the 
American  public  school.  At  the  same  time  the  pub- 
lic school  must  recognize  more  clearly  its  own  aims 
and  ideals  and  functions  and  must  move  with  clearly 
defined  ideas  to  the  realization  of  these  aims,  ideals, 
functions.  Its  aim  must  be  to  turn  back  to  society  as 
the  finished  product  (1)  the  reliable  man;  (2)  the 
adaptable  man;  (3)  the  efficient  man.  Its  methods 
must  be  so  shaped  and  defined  that  its  theory  will 
be  exemplified  and  justified  by  its  output. 

The  aim  of  this  book  is  to  deal  with  but  one  phase 
of  this  complex  problem,  to  state  its  needs  and  to 
suggest  a  means.  This  phase  pertains  to  the  deter- 
mining of  the  reliable  man. 

Any  one  who  has  given  thought  to  present-day  life 
in  America ;  who  has  followed  with  patriotic  zeal  the 
newspaper  and  magazine  articles  dealing  with  the 
problems  of  civic  life ;  who  has  witnessed  the  piracy 
of  the  market-place,  the  operation  of  gigantic  com- 
binations and  concerns  which  merited  and  received 
the  protest  and  antagonism  of  a  great,  virile  Presi- 
dent, must  have  been  impressed  by  the  fact  that 
present-day  society,  in  no  mean  way  the  product  of 
our  public  schools,  is  much  more  efficient  than  relia- 
ble ;  much  more  intellectual  than  ethical ;  much  more 
successful  than  moraL  Surely  the  bread-and-butter 


INTKODUCTION  :   THE   POINT   OF   VIEW  15 

factor  for  the  individual  was  a  greater  determinant 
of  the  aims  and  practices  of  the  public  school  than 
the  needs  of  the  society  in  which  the  individual 
found  himself  and  which  accorded  him  his  oppor- 
tunity. While  the  efficiency  of  the  individual  is  not 
necessarily  an  evil,  it  must  be  toned  and  balanced  by 
reliability  of  purpose  and  stamina  of  character. 
The  reliable  man  who  measures  up  to  the  full  stat- 
ure of  society's  needs  and  demands  must  also  be 
adaptable  to  adjust  himself  to  the  great,  complex 
changes  continually  going  on  in  every  phase  of  the 
world's  work.  In  this  complex  situation  must  be 
found  the  aim  and  function  of  the  school,  the  solu- 
tion of  its  problem. 

"As  the  twig  is  bent" 

Childhood  is  the  formative  period  for  the  physi- 
cal, the  intellectual,  the  spiritual  stature  of  matu- 
rity. In  this  impressionable  age  is  laid  the  founda- 
tion, is  planted  the  seed  of  fine  emotions,  tender 
feelings,  high  ideals  that  are  to  determine  future 
being  and  becoming.  In  the  unfolding  tendencies, 
feelings  and  emotions,  the  soul-growth  records  it- 
self. The  function  of  the  best  literature  is  to  stimu- 
late this  soul-growth  and  ' l  to  make  the  best  that  has 
ever  been  thought  in  the  world  the  portion  of  every 
one  born  into  the  world. ' '  Its  function  is  to  lift  the 
reader  from  the  contemplation  of  material  needs 
and  advantages  to  the  contemplation  of  the  needs 
of  the  spirit  in  its  hunger  and  thirst  for  righteous- 
ness. Its  function  is  to  bring  to  each  individual  the 


16  LITEKATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

priceless  treasures  of  the  ages  in  terms  of  the  spir- 
itual environment,  and,  through  it,  to  enable  each 
individual  to  rise  to  higher  and  still  more  high 
ideals  and  aspirations  of  spirit.  This  is  the  law  of 
life — of  being  and  becoming.  Ever  the  old  ideals 
are  realized,  ever  the  newer  and  higher  ideals  take 
their  place,  ever  the  individual  and  the  race  strive 
to  realize  their  best  ideals  through  growth,  through 
education.  In  the  inability  to  set  up  and  to  aspire 
toward  an  ideal  is  recorded  the  death  of  the  soul. 

The  modern  tendency  in  school  work  to  foster  the 
essentially  practical  studies,  particularly  science, 
manual  training  and  similar  lines  of  work  which 
lead  toward  the  trades  and  industries,  to  the  almost 
utter  neglect  of  the  study  of  literature  in  the  ele- 
mentary school,  is  due  to  a  desire  to  secure  a  proper 
and  adequate  adjustment  of  the  individual  to  his  en- 
vironment, and  to  prepare  him  for  efficient  service 
in  the  life  which  he  is  to  live.  It  is  a  belief  and  a 
desire  born  of  honest  but  mistaken  convictions  as 
to  what  constitutes  an  environment  and  as  to  what 
is  the  full  measure  of  success.  The  error  lies  in  the 
assumption  that  the  environment  is  essentially  ma- 
terial ;  that  the  needs  of  the  market  and  the  loom  are 
the  be-all  and  the  end-all  of  social  and  industrial 
life.  A  one-sided  policy  and  a  hypermyopic  vision 
have  led  some  schools  and  schoolmen  to  overlook 
the  fact  that  the  prime  requisites  in  all  the  affairs 
of  life,  social,  industrial,  economic,  are  reliability, 
adaptability,  efficiency,  in  the  order  named.  Our 
penitentiaries  are  eloquent  witnesses  to  the  social 


INTBODUCTION  I    THE   POINT   OP   VIEW  17 

inefficiency  of  the  merely  skillful  man.  For  reliabil- 
ity the  school  must  secure  adjustment  to  the  spirit- 
ual environment  and  anchor  the  individual  to  the 
fundamental  ethical  and  moral  laws  of  social  rela- 
tionship. To  secure  adaptability  the  period  of  in- 
fancy must  be  prolonged  through  versatility  of 
requirement  and  the  deferring  of  specialization.  In 
the  many-sided  experiences  afforded  by  the  full,  rich 
course,  the  maturing  individual  will  find  his  scope 
and  his  limitations.  He  will  find  "new  dynamos" 
in  himself  and  will  tend  to  make  his  own  adjustment 
to  his  inclinations,  tendencies,  powers  and  possibili- 
ties. 

That  there  must  be  a  harmonious  development  of 
the  individual  in  the  process  of  becoming  has  been  a 
trite  saying  of  educators  for  several  decades.  They 
have  contended  also  that  the  school  is  an  institution 
for  bringing  together  the  being  to  be  developed  and 
the  means  for  that  development  and  for  harmonizing 
them  effectively  and  economically.  Pedagogues  of 
a  later  vintage  scoff  at  the  idea  of  a  harmonious 
development.  Shortsightedly,  they  fail  to  distinguish 
between  presenting  conditions  for  the  development 
of  body,  intellect  and  spirit,  and  presenting  condi- 
tions for  an  equal  development  of  every  power  and 
sense,  of  tendency  and  possibility.  This  latter  is  a 
man  of  straw,  and  when  he  has  been  disposed  of 
nothing  has  really  been  accomplished,  because  the 
most  ardent  advocate  of  the  harmonious  theory 
would  say  that  that  point  of  view  was  wholly  foreign 
to  the  theory  and  spirit  of  harmonious  development. 


18  LITEBATUBB  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

The  saner  thought  of  the  twentieth  century  will 
see  that  the  factors  which  have  produced  the  pres- 
ent development  of  man  and  the  race  still  survive, 
and  will  continue  to  be  potent  factors  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  individual  along  similar  lines.  It  will 
realize  also  that  the  twentieth  century  child,  the  cul- 
mination of  the  past,  the  prophecy  of  the  future, 
must  not  be  sacrificed  to  the  gods  of  the  mart, 
the  expediency  of  business,  the  convenience  of 
the  counting-chamber.  In  these  days  of  clam- 
orous appeal  for  industrial  training,  for  tech- 
nical schools,  for  turning  back  the  shoemaker,  the 
seamstress,  as  the  finished  product,  rather  than  the 
manly  man,  the  womanly  woman,  the  teacher  must 
hearken  back  to  the  experiences  of  the  past,  note  the 
various  factors  which  have  fostered  present  stand- 
ards and  ideals,  and  note  also  the  factors  which  have 
hindered  or  rendered  ineffective  the  realization  of 
best  modern  ideals.  She  must  conscientiously  weigh 
their  merit  and  justify  their  retention  or  rejection. 
She  must  determine  carefully  whether  the  present 
tendency  to  short-cut  to  the  dollar  is  the  natural 
outgrowth  of  American  ideals,  of  a  rational  democ- 
racy, or  of  an  imperialistic  idea  imported  from 
abroad  with  the  halt,  the  sick,  the  blind  which  con- 
stitute the  slum  problem  of  our  city  life.  She  must 
determine  whether  the  harmonious  theory  of  devel- 
opment which  aims  to  produce  a  man  is  of  more 
vital  concern  than  the  desired  technical  training 
which  aims  to  produce  a  skilled  artisan  as  an  ele- 
ment in  a  great  productive  machine.  She  must  de- 


INTRODUCTION:  THE  POINT  OF  VIEW  19 

termine  whether  the  efficiency  or  the  reliability  of 
the  modern  worker  is  at  fault.  If  she  believes  with 
the  modern  sociologist  that  the  successful  man  is 
the  adaptable  man,  she  will  take  thought  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  function  of  the  school  is  to  hasten 
or  to  retard  the  time  of  specialization.  She  will  sub- 
mit the  assumption  of  the  superiority  of  the  Euro- 
pean trained  workman  to  tests  of  actually  demon- 
strated facts.  She  will  seek  to  ascertain  whether 
the  European  or  the  American  artisan  is  the  adapt- 
able man,  and  whether  our  system  of  education 
makes  for  the  adaptable  man  by  prolonging  the 
period  of  development  and  retarding  the  time  of 
specialization. 

When  our  school  and  our  school  courses  are  sub- 
jected to  scientific  tests,  we  have  faith  to  believe 
that  much  that  is  useless  will  be  eliminated;  that 
ancient  customs,  traditions,  even  ' '  the  wisdom  of  our 
ancestors, "  will  be  overcome;  that  more  and  better 
means  and  facilities  for  the  development  of  mind  and 
body  through  the  vigorous  use  of  brain  and  muscle 
will  be  devised ;  but  side  by  side  with  the  means  for 
the  development  and  growth  of  intellect  and  phy- 
sique, literature,  rightly  taught  as  a  great  spiritual 
influence,  will  find  an  abiding  place  also.  The  school 
of  the  future  will  be  shot  through  and  through  with 
the  idea:  " First  render  fit  to  live  and  then  assure 
a  fit  living. " 


CHAPTER  I 
LITERATURE-ITS  SCOPE  AND  PURPOSE 

THAT  man  cannot  live  by  bread  alone  is  an  ancient 
feeling  of  the  human  heart.  Since  the  first  dawn  of 
consciousness  man  has  realized  the  span  and  tension 
between  what  he  is  and  what  he  may  be  and  ought 
to  be.  In  the  contemplation  of  his  infinite  possibili- 
ties he  has  realized  the  meagerness  of  the  accom- 
plished fact.  In  the  song  of  bard,  in  the  story 
of  romancer,  in  the  prophecy  of  priest,  man  has 
sought  to  point  the  way  from  the  actual  to  the 
possible. 

Under  the  divine  inspiration  of  what  he  might  be, 
man  has  threaded  his  way  upward  across  the  cen- 
turies. He  has  harmonized  seemingly  antagonistic 
forces.  He  has  redeemed  wildernesses.  He  has, 
through  the  energy  of  hand  and  brain,  increased  the 
productivity  of  nature  an  hundredfold.  He  has 
wrested  from  the  secret  places  of  nature  the  useful 
minerals  and  the  precious  gems.  He  has  dispelled 
the  mystery  of  oceans.  He  has  discovered  natural 
laws.  He  has  invented  labor-saving  contrivances. 
He  has  reared  and  adorned  palaces.  He  has  solved 
the  fundamental  life  problems  of  food,  clothing  and 
shelter  in  his  rise  from  the  simple,  crude  and  earthy 


LITERATURE ITS   SCOPE   AND   PURPOSE  21 

to  the  most  complex,  artistic  and  aesthetic.  Through 
it  all  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  man  realized  that 
food,  clothing  and  shelter  do  not  make  up  the  sum 
total  of  the  thing  called  life.  So  he  dedicated  his 
temples,  formulated  his  ceremonies,  gave  himself  up 
to  the  contemplation  of  his  ideal.  He  grew  dimly 
conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  realized  in  but  a 
meager  way  his  ideals  of  the  city  not  built  with 
hands ;  had  approached  in  a  small  measure  only  his 
conception  of  life  beatific.  He  could  not  articulate, 
but  however  dimly,  he  inwardly  saw  and  felt  the 
mighty  fact  voiced  by  the  modern  poet : 

"And  so  this  glimmering  life  at  last  recedes 
In  unknown  endless  depths  beyond  recall." 

In  the  sweat  of  his  brow  man  found  the  way  and 
the  means  for  physical  development.  In  the  reac- 
tion on  and  mastering  of  his  physical  environment 
he  gave  rise  to  his  mental  development.  In  the  con- 
templation of  an  ideal  life,  of  ideal  relations,  of  an 
ultimate  destiny,  he  provided  for,  gave  expression 
to,  spiritual  growth  and  spiritual  development.  In 
these  articulated  hopes  and  aspirations,  in  these 
contemplations  and  ideals,  is  the  genius  of  all  that 
is  worthy  and  vital  in  literature.  And  what  is  lit- 
erature, its  aim,  its  scope,  its  purpose? 

Professor  Clark  says: 

"  Let  us  admit  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  literature  is  the 
language  of  emotion  and  imagery  with  little  or  no  appeal  to  the 
intellect.  It  is  still  worthy  of  study  for  the  real  pleasure  and 
enjoyment  that  may  be  had  from  it." 


22  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Charles  Eliot  Norton  says: 

"  Change  as  the  world  may  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  nations, 
change  as  man  may  in  knowledge,  belief  and  manners,  human 
nature  remains  unaltered  in  its  elements,  unchanged  from  age  to 
age,  and  it  is  with  human  nature  in  its  various  guises  that  great 
poets  deal.  To  acquire  a  love  for  the  best  poetry  and  a  just  un- 
derstanding of  it  is  the  chief  end  in  the  study  of  literature.  It 
is  by  means  of  poetry  that  the  imagination  is  quickened,  nurtured 
and  invigorated,  and  it  is  through  the  exercise  of  his  imagination 
that  man  can  live  a  life  that  is  in  a  true  sense  really  worth  living. 
It  is  his  imagination  that  lifts  him  from  the  petty,  transient,  and 
physical  interests  which  engross  the  greater  part  of  his  time  and 
thought  in  self -regarding  pursuits,  to  the  large,  permanent  and 
spiritual  interests  which  ennoble  his  nature  and  transform  him 
from  a  solitary  individual  to  a  member  of  the  brotherhood  of  the 
human  race." 

Emerson  says: 

"  It  is  in  the  grandest  strokes  of  the  poet  that  we  feel  most  at 
home.  All  that  Shakspere  says  of  the  king,  yonder  slip  of  a  boy 
who  reads  in  the  corner  feels  to  be  true  of  himself." 

Carlyle  says: 

"  The  true  poet,  the  man  in  whose  heart  remains  some  effluence 
of  divine  wisdom,  some  tone  of  the  eternal  melodies,  is  the  most 
precious  gift  that  can  be  bestowed  upon  a  generation.  He  sees 
men  more  clearly  than  they  see  themselves  and  reveals  to  them 
their  own  dim  ideals." 

Matthew  Arnold  says : 

"  The  grand  work  of  a  literary  genius  consists  in  the  faculty  of 
being  inspired  by  a  certain  intellectual  and  spiritual  atmosphere, 
by  a  certain  order  of  ideas, — and  of  dealing  divinely  with  these 
ideas." 


LITERATURE ITS   SCOPE   AND   PURPOSE  23 

Professor  Woodberry  says: 

"  Literature  is  the  mind  of  all  the  race  and  the  language  of  all 
the  world." 

These  are  a  few  of  the  many  attempts  that  have 
been  made  to  reduce  literature  to  a  definition  and  to 
intimate  some  of  its  functions. 

If  the  first  statement  were  accepted  literally,  not 
as  the  author  meant  it,  it  would  be  admitting  that 
the  products  of  the  lower  centers  were  the  most  en- 
during of  man's  creations.  In  scanning  the  pages 
of  history  closely,  one  has  seen  readily  enough  that 
systems  of  government  have  been  organized  that 
seemed  as  enduring  as  the  ages ;  religions  have  been 
formulated  with  the  apparent  sanction  and  ap- 
proval of  divinity,  and  temples  of  worship  have  been 
reared  that  seemed  as  firm-set  as  the  pyramids; 
systems  of  social  and  industrial  life  which  seemed 
absolutely  indispensable  have  sprung  into  being :  all 
these  apparently  included  the  totality  of  man's  life 
for  all  time,  while  the  expression  of  his  spiritual 
hunger,  its  longings  and  its  hopes,  was  merely  a 
side  issue.  Yet  these  governments  now  live  only  in 
story;  these  religions  and  temples  of  worship  have 
been  reduced  to  a  memory ;  every  phase  and  form  of 
social  and  industrial  life  have  yielded  to  the  change- 
compelling  wave  of  progress.  But  the  great  spir- 
itual expressions  embodied  in  the  literature  of  the 
people  still  live  with  all  of  their  original  signifi- 
cance and  meaning.  The  literature  of  the  people, 
voicing  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  the  past,  en- 


24  LITEEATUKB   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

dures  from  age  to  age  voicing  the  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions of  an  ever-expanding  present.  It  flows  into 
the  present  from  the  past,  points  the  future,  and  em- 
bodies the  immortal  life-essence  of  the  spiritual  in 
man.  Literature  is  the  language  of  the  human 
spirit  in  its  moments  of  great  exaltation.  It  does 
not  depend  upon  the  conventions  of  language,  for 
all  that  the  bards  of  old  have  sung  (in  Sanskrit  or 
Hebrew,  in  Greek  or  Latin,  or  any  other  combina- 
tions of  characters  to  represent  through  sound 
human  feelings  and  emotions)  finds  ready  response 
in  the  heart  of  the  modern  reader.  This  is  pro- 
foundly true  whether  their  songs  were  originally 
sung  amid  the  solitudes  of  the  mountains,  in  fertile 
valleys,  amid  the  pomp  of  royal  courts  or  the  splen- 
dor of  ancient  cities.  These  songs  are  still  full  of 
life  and  meaning,  whether  dealing  with  gods  and 
men  on  the  fields  of  Troy,  picturing  the  self-sacrifice 
of  an  Alcestis,  or  the  devotion  of  an  Antigone  to  a 
higher  law,  or  portraying  the  agony  of  soul  of  a 
Prometheus  or  a  Siegfried. 

If  the  abiding  thing  from  age  to  age  is  the  great 
literature  of  a  people,  surely  it  must  be  something 
more  than  the  mere  expression  of  the  emotion  and 
imagination.  May  it  not  more  properly  be  defined 
as  the  product  of  the  intellect  working,  under  the 
stimulus  of  emotion  and  imagination,  on  spiritual 
things  to  produce  spiritual  results,  just  as  the 
achievements  of  science  and  industrial  life  are  the 
products  of  the  intellect  working,  under  the  stimulus 
of  the  emotion  and  the  imagination,  on  material 


LITERATUKE — ITS   SCOPE   AND   PURPOSE  25 

things,  to  produce  material  results  ?  Every  achieve- 
ment or  creation  of  the  human  race  was  first  an  idea 
in  one  man's  mind  and  the  construction  was  that 
idea  externalized,  that  idea  shaped,  defined  and  ex- 
pressed. 

FUNCTION   OF   IMAGINATION 

Who  can  conceive  of  any  worthy  work  done  in  the 
world  in  which  the  emotion  and  the  imagination 
have  not  played  a  vital  part  I  What  must  have  been 
the  emotion  and  imagination  of  Michael  Angelo  as 
he  saw  the  form  of  his  mighty  Moses  embedded  in 
the  unyielding  stone,  and  what  his  emotion  as  he 
saw  his  idea  materializing  through  conscious  effort ! 
What  his  emotion  and  imagination  as  he  flung  his 
time-enduring  pictures  on  the  dome  of  the  great 
Italian  cathedral !  What  must  have  been  the  mighty 
emotion  and  imagination  of  Columbus  as  he  contem- 
plated his  western  route  and,  as  he  thought,  carried 
his  contemplation  to  reality!  Who  can  overdraw 
the  masterful  emotion  and  imagination  of  Galileo  as 
he  projected  his  vision  to  the  infinite  depths  and 
through  his  great  invention  discovered  the  laws  of 
motion!  What  vast  emotion  and  imagination  must 
have  sustained  Edison  through  his  hours  of  vigil 
and  labor  as  he  forged  the  lightning's  chains  to 
make  it  subservient  to  man's  daily  needs !  What  an 
emotion  and  imagination  must  have  been  required 
to  sustain  Charles  Darwin  as  he  devoted  years  of 
study  to  account  for  the  origin  of  species !  Who  can 
follow  the  emotion  and  imagination  of  Marconi  in 


26  LITERATUBE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

their  daring  flights  as  they  contemplated  enlisting 
the  very  atmosphere  in  the  service  of  mankind  as  a 
message-bearer!  What  must  have  been  the  clear- 
visioned  emotion  and  imagination  of  Socrates  as  he 
endeavored  to  strike  the  shackles  from  the  minds  of 
Athenian  youths,  and  as  he  quaffed  the  hemlock  in 
defense  of  an  idea !  What  must  have  been  the  in- 
spring  emotion  and  imagination  of  Savonarola 
who  impassionately  proclaimed  that,  if  created  in 
the  image  and  likeness  of  his  Maker,  man  must  in- 
deed be  Godlike,  and  who  surrendered  his  life  pro- 
testing that  practice  and  precept  must  form  the 
divine  equation !  And  what  the  divine  emotion  and 
imagination  of  the  lowly  Man  of  Nazareth  as  he 
scourged  the  money-changers  from  the  temple,  as 
he  taught  the  multitude  from  the  mountain-tops,  as 
he  unflinchingly  faced  his  final  problem  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Gethsemane,  and  as  he  sent  his  message  of 
mercy  ringing  down  the  ages  in  "  Forgive  them, 
Father,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 

The  intellect  rises  to  its  highest  in  every  phase 
and  form  of  human  activity  when  impelled  by  a  pow- 
erful emotion,  aided  by  a  quickened  imagination  and 
directed  by  an  educated  will.  Surely  the  highest 
flights  of  the  intellect  are  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  things  of  the  spirit! 

FUNCTION  OF  LITERATURE 

Literature  selects  incidents,  types,  scenes,  in  na- 
ture and  human  life,  and  idealizes  them.  It  lifts 
them  out  of  the  walls  and  limitations  of  particular 


LITERATURE ITS    SCOPE   AND   PURPOSE  27 

time  and  particular  place  and  makes  them  harmo- 
nize with,  and  possess,  all  time  and  all  place.  The 
Promethean  faith  in  man  is  no  worn-out  screed.  The 
devotion  of  an  Alcestis  or  an  Antigone  is  not  pe- 
culiar to  Athenian  life  of  ancient  days.  The  moral 
grandeur  of  a  Paradise  did  not  pass  away  with  the 
astronomical  conception  on  which  it  was  based.  The 
soul-struggle  of  Saul  was  not  peculiar  to  the  Judean 
ruler,  did  not  necessarily  take  its  rise  from  the  par- 
ticular Hebraic  environs.  The  courage,  the  heroism, 
the  devotion  to  ideals,  the  struggles,  the  triumphs, 
the  defeats,  the  symphonies  and  the  tragedies  of 
human  life  record  the  life  spiritual,  typify  individ- 
ual experiences,  tendencies,  hopes  and  aspirations. 
Through  the  splendor  of  the  large,  the  heroic,  the 
sublime,  the  universal,  shines  the  glory  of  the  com- 
monplace. 

Literature  is  at  once  a  record  and  an  interpreta- 
tion of  worthy  life.  In  the  individual  and  particu- 
lar worth  it  perceives  the  embodiment  of  common 
hopes,  aspirations,  and  possibilities.  Through  it 
runs  the  inspiration  and  the  justification  of  moral 
clash  and  struggle,  and  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of 
the  ideal  is  recorded  the  distinction  between  the 
transitory  and  the  eternal.  Literature  thus  becomes 
the  guide  and  inspiration  in  times  of  stress  and 
strain,  a  comforter  in  affliction,  a  balancing  power 
in  times  of  triumph  and  victory. 

Literature  has  a  higher  scope  or  function  which 
has  been  stated  thus : 

"  To  the  human,  intellectual  and  moral  resources  of  the  soul 


28  LITEKATUKE   1ST   THE   SCHOOL 

are  added  the  sustaining  power  of  divine  grace,  the  illuminating 
power  of  divine  truth,  the  transforming  power  of  divine  love. 
So  a  poem  becomes  the  very  image  of  life  expressed  in  eternal 
truth." 

With  like  idea  Shelley  says : 

"  Indeed,  what  were  our  consolation  on  this  side  of  the  grave 
and  our  aspirations  beyond  it,  if  poetry  did  not  ascend  to  bring 
light  and  fire  from  those  eternal  regions  where  the  owl-winged 
faculty  of  calculation  dare  not  soar?" 

And  Perry: 

"  In  literature  human  expression  reaches  its  most  exalted  state, 
excepting  only  religion  itself,  wherein  God  is  both  seen  and 
served." 


CHAPTEE   H 
SPIRITUAL  ENVIRONMENT 

THE  spiritual  environment  to  which  adequate  ad- 
justment must  be  made  has  been  rendered  tangible 
and  accessible  through  the  accumulated  treasures  of 
the  ages  in  the  mighty  contributions  of  story-tellers 
and  songsters,  of  bards  and  romancers,  of  poets, 
prophets,  seers.  The  songs  the  Aryan  mothers  sang 
still  soothe  to  slumber.  The  stories  of  heroic  deeds 
of  valor  still  cause  the  pulse  to  leap,  the  eye  to 
flash,  the  will  to  do  and  dare.  The  sacrifice  of  self 
for  the  larger  good  still  incites  to  emulation.  The 
prophecy  of  the  dawn  of  better  things  still  finds  its 
responsive  echo.  The  enunciated  truths  of  the 
great  fundamental  moral  laws  still  sweep  and  sway 
the  emotions. 

"But,"  says  your  stickler  for  the  practical, 
"myths,  fairy  tales,  legends,  etc.,  are  mere  products 
of  the  fancy.  They  have  no  foundation  in  fact. 
Shall  we  teach  falsehoods?  Children  are  only  too 
prone  to  falsify  without  training  and  encourage- 
ment." 

The  answer  to  such  a  question  must  be  found  in 
the  stories  themselves.  In  the  analysis  of  their  es- 
sential nature  must  be  revealed  their  depths  of  real- 
ity or  unreality,  of  truth  or  falsehood.  In  the  story 


30  LITEKATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

of  Cinderella  the  essential  truth  is  that  unselfish- 
ness ultimately  overcomes  selfishness.  In  another 
type,  beauty  and  purity  overcome  the  beastly.  In 
other  types,  truth  overcomes  error;  fidelity  over- 
comes faithlessness;  integrity  overcomes  perfidy; 
right  overcomes  wrong;  the  purity  of  an  Elaine 
overcomes  the  licentiousness  of  a  Guinevere  even 
though  she  wear  the  crown  and  purple  robes  of  a 
queen.  These  great  stories  and  poems  testify  that 
out  of  his  struggles,  limitations  and  temptations 
man  rose  from  earthly  and  material  hopes  to  the 
larger  hope  that  ultimately  right,  justice,  purity  and 
truth  must  prevail. 

The  purpose  of  studying  these  great  literatures  is 
to  preserve  and  sustain  the  hope,  the  thought,  the 
faith,  that  in  the  long,  long  purposes  and  processes 
of  time,  truth  must  prevail  and  right,  not  wrong, 
must  dominate  the  universe.  If  this  be  untrue,  if 
truth  and  right  shall  not  prevail  in  the  long  run, 
then  the  dominant  influence  in  shaping  ultimate 
events  is  born  of  evil — the  devil — and  not  of  good 
— of  God — an  unthinkable  proposition. 

MOVEMENT  IN  LITERATURE— TYPES  DEFINED 

In  the  elementary  school  the  work  in  literature 
should  begin  with  the  nursery  rhymes  and  jingles 
of  the  home  and  move  through  the  best  myths,  fairy 
tales,  legends  and  hero  tales.  These  stories  should 
be  of  the  motor,  dynamic  type;  should  embody  ideals 
worthy  of  emulation;  should  contain  basic  princi- 


SPIRITUAL  ENVIRONMENT  31 

pies  of  ethics,  morals,  religion.    Each  type  of  story 
has  its  own  significance. 

Colonel  Parker  well  defined  the  myth  as  the  im- 
perfect answer  which  nature  gives  to  the  childish 
soul  of  man.  Man  saw  the  sun  circle  in  majesty 
through  the  infinite  blue  depths,  never  varying  the 
time  of  its  ceaseless  round,  and  he  asked:  "What 
art  thou?"  "Whence  cometh  thy  motion?"  And 
the  myths  and  legends  of  Phoebus  Apollo,  of  Jason 
and  the  Golden  Fleece,  are  the  imperfect  answers, 
the  childish  explanation.  The  iceberg  on  the  moun- 
tain top,  pierced  by  the  fierce  rays  of  the  relentless 
sun,  exclaimed :  ' '  Write  my  epitaph ! ' '  And  the  re- 
sponse came  in  the  story  of  Niobe  and  her  godlike 
lover.  In  the  northern  fastnesses  the  eternal  clash 
between  light  and  darkness  embodied  itself  in,  gave 
being  and  personality  to,  Odin  and  Thor,  Loki  and 
Siegfried.  These  myths,  of  whatever  land  or  clime 
or  people,  are  the  attempts  of  the  childish  soul 
to  explain  and  classify  the  things  pertaining  to 
its  environment.  The  answer  or  explanation  or 
classification  is  always  in  direct  ratio  to  the  experi- 
ences which  the  investigator  has  to  invest,  and  the 
highest  flights  of  the  most  rigid  scientist  are  noth- 
ing more. 

The  legends  and  fairy  tales  at  their  best  merely 
bear  witness  to  the  truth  already  expressed,  that 
selfishness  must  yield  to  unselfishness;  ugliness  to 
b.eauty ;  evil  to  good ;  falsehood  to  truth  ^  hate  to 
love.  They  emphasize  sharply  the  difference  be- 
tween the  low,  the  mean,  the  petty,  the  transient, 


32  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

and  the  high,  the  noble,  the  worthy,  the  permanent. 
They  build  into  the  mind  and  heart  and  character 
of  those  who  daily  associate  with  them,  right  mo- 
tives, a  discriminating  choice,  and  a  permanence  of 
high  ideals. 

The  hero  tales  appeal  to  children  at  an  age  when 
they  are  not  yet  conscious  of  their  own  limitations. 
They  are  then  interested  in  action,  things  doing  on 
a  big  scale.  Nothing  seems  impossible  to  them — 
nothing  impossible  to  their  heroes.  Now  Hercules 
may  perform  his  great  labors;  now  Jason  may 
search  for  the  golden  fleece ;  now  Paris  and  Achilles 
may  perform  deeds  of  heroic  valor  on  the  fields  of 
Troy;  and  now  Eoland  and  Oliver  may  astound  the 
world  with  their  feats  at  arms.  The  far-reaching 
ideals  of  hero  worship  at  this  age  may  be  easily  fos- 
tered and  encouraged,  as  they  should  be,  for  hero 
worship,  at  its  best,  is  but  the  expression  of  human- 
ity's belief  in  an  ideal.  Shall  we  dare  to  teach  chil- 
dren that  all  the  legendary  heroes  who  wrought 
mightily  for  the  welfare  of  humanity  are  but  fig- 
ments of  the  brain,  creations  of  the  fancy,  having  no 
foundation  in  fact,  and  shall  we  then  exhort  them  to 
have  belief  and  trust  in  the  ethical  reformers  of  our 
own  dayf  Shall  we  teach  children  that  all  these 
sacrifices  of  self,  all  this  devotion  to  duty,  all  this 
purity  of  life  and  purpose,  are  not  true,  and  then 
ask  them  to  accept  the  deeds  and  worth  of  the  sweet- 
souled,  gentle-natured  Man  of  Nazareth  with  his 
ideals,  his  lofty  purpose,  his  heroic  devotion  to 
duty,  as  the  very  essence  of  faith  and  religion? 


SPIRITUAL   ENVIEONMENT  33 

Shall  we  sow  the  seeds  of  skepticism  and  pessimism 
and  doubt  and  unbelief  and  still  fondly  believe  that 
hope  and  faith  in  the  larger  life  will  be  the  bud  and 
blossom  of  our  teaching?  Some  day  the  institution 
called  the  school  will  realize  that  it  is  the  only  insti- 
tution that  consciously  and  purposefully  plans  to 
furnish  the  means  and  manner  of  the  development  of 
each  individual  who  commits  himself  to  its  care,  and 
that  it  must  explain  him  to  himself  and  to  the  society 
which  made  the  institution  possible. 

The  hero  tales  of  romance  may  be  succeeded  by 
the  romance  of  history,  the  legendary  heroes  by  the 
heroes  of  flesh  and  blood,  for  history  is  but  the  won- 
derful story  of  man  as  he  has  struggled  Godward 
across  the  centuries.  The  study  of  these  heroes  of 
history  should  not  degenerate  into  the  minute,  de- 
tailed analysis  of  individual  lives.  It  should  rather 
be  the  study  of  real  men  as  the  expression  of  social 
forces,  and  of  social  forces  shaped  and  fashioned  by 
individual  men.  The  tendency  of  many  teachers  in 
dealing  with  biography  to  be  painfully  precise  and 
accurate  and  superficially  truthful  by  going  into  all 
the  petty  incidents  of  life,  teaching  its  accidents  as 
well  as  its  purposes,  the  shortcomings  and  defects 
as  well  as  its  great  ideals  and  accomplishments,  has 
been  well  taken  to  task  by  Charles  Dudley  Warner, 
who  says:  "I  should  feel  myself  a  criminal  if  I  said 
anything  to  chill  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young 
scholar  or  to  dash  with  any  skepticism  his  longing 
and  his  hope."  Let  us  have  faith  to  believe  that 
Peter's  worshiping  from  afar  was  not  the  full  meas- 


34  LITEBATUBB  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

lire  of  the  man;  that  Washington's  outbursts  of 
uncontrollable  temper  were  not  indicative  of  his 
motives  and  ideals ;  that  Webster  was  great  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  looked  upon  the  wine  when  it  was 
red  within  the  cup.  Let  us  have  faith  to  believe  that 
the  man  at  his  best  is  revelatory  of  the  man.  As 
Paracelsus  exclaims: 

"  If  you  would  remember  me  aright 
As  I  was  born  to  be,  you  must  forget 
All  fitful,  strange  and  moody  waywardness, 
Which  e'er  confused  my  better  spirit,  to  dwell 
Only  on  moments  such  as  these,  dear  friends ! 
My  heart  no  truer  but  my  word  and  ways  more  true  to  it." 

Through  the  study  of  man  and  his  ideals  we  may 
come  to  realize  that  in  order  to  know  any  man,  it  is 
not  only  necessary  to  know  what  he  is,  but  it  is  also 
necessary  to  know  what  he  is  capable  of  becoming. 

The  study  of  ideals  in  the  elementary  school  may 
reach  its  highest  in  the  study  of  the  warfare  be- 
tween the  senses  and  the  spirit  as  typified  in  the 
Idylls  of  the  King;  the  highest  reach  of  doing  and 
contemplation  may  be  realized  in  the  study  of  the 
ideals  of  the  Age  of  Chivalry,  and  in  the  majes- 
tic problems  of  spiritual  life  embodied  in  the 
Scriptures. 

In  the  selection  of  literature  for  any  grade  much 
more  must  be  taken  into  consideration  than  the  sim- 
plicity of  thought  and  language  as  both  appear  on 
the  surface.  What  a  travesty  on  teaching  literature 
it  is  to  have  little  tots  six  and  seven  years  old  mem- 
orize a  poem  like  Tennyson's  " Flower  in  the  Gran- 


SPIRITUAL  ENVIRONMENT  35 

nied  Wall"  because  it  is  short,  the  words  simple, 
and  forsooth  wee  folks  should  know  something  of 
Tennyson!  This  seemingly  simple  poem  embodies 
the  whole  philosophy  and  mystery  of  life  and  con- 
fronts the  mature  intellect  of  the  trained  scientist 
with  the  littleness  of  his  lore,  the  limitations  of  his 
knowledge. 

To  appreciate  a  piece  of  literature  thoroughly  the 
reader  must  experience  in  a  degree  at  least  the  eth- 
ical and  emotional  stimulus  under  which  and  out  of 
which  it  was  written.  That  is,  whether  a  selection 
is  simple  or  complex  depends  upon  the  emotional 
and  ethical  experiences  which  have  swayed  the 
reader  and  which  he  has  summed  up  to  invest  in  the 
selection  to  be  studied.  The  error  in  selecting  lies 
in  assuming  that  the  simple  in  form  is  necessarily 
simple  to  the  child  though  far  removed  in  time  and 
thought  from  his  experiences,  instead  of  believing 
that  the  known  and  necessary  are  simple,  however 
complex  apparently,  and  that  the  far-off,  the  un- 
known are  complex  to  the  reader,  however  simple 
in  word  and  form.  Hence  a  simple  poem  of  Tenny- 
son's may  present  more  real  difficulties  than  a  com- 
edy or  a  tragedy  of  Shakspere's.  The  child  through 
his  experiences  will  read  meaning  into  the  form,  and 
the  elevated  content ;  sustained  thought  and  artistic 
form  will  reenforce  and  reintensify  his  experiences, 
will  define  them  more  clearly  to  him  and  will  enable 
him  to  project  himself  forward  more  advantage- 
ously and  intelligently  in  the  realizing  of  himself. 
To  illustrate:  to  sing  Cardinal  Newman's  sublime 


36  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

hymn  at  its  best,  the  interpreter  must  be  familiar 
with  the  circumstances  under  which  and  out  of 
which  it  was  written  and  must  himself  have  experi- 
enced the  struggle  born  of  grief  and  illness  and 
doubt.  He  must  see  Cardinal  Newman,  worn  in 
body  and  fatigued  in  mind,  as  he  wends  his  way 
homeward  from  the  Orient,  the  Holy  Land,  whither 
he  had  gone  hoping  to  settle  the  grief  and  doubt 
which  perplexed  and  tortured  him.  He  must  see 
that  emaciated  form  lying  helplessly  on  a  cot  on 
the  deck  of  a  vessel  on  the  broad  expanse  of  the 
Mediterranean.  He  must  feel  the  darkness  of  de- 
spair settling  down  on  the  mind  as  the  darkness  of 
the  night  enfolds  the  ship  at  sea.  And  as  that  great 
soul  looked  out  through  the  mists  of  religious  doubt 
and  the  mists  of  the  enfolding  night,  the  singer  must 
see  with  him  the  inspiring  ray  of  the  fixed  and  con- 
stant star.  Then  he  too  may  sing  with  all  of  its 
original  significance  and  meaning: 

"  Lead,  kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  Thou  me  on; 
The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home, 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 

Keep  Thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene;  one  glimpse  enough  for  me." 


CHAPTEE   in 
LITERATURE   AND  THE   READING   PROBLEM 

To  discuss  literature  as  a  means  in  reading,  it  is 
necessary  to  present  a  point  of  view  in  reading;  to 
define  reading;  to  state  its  function  and  processes. 
The  relation  of  reading  to  the  work  of  the  school 
and  the  essence  of  the  reading  problem  must  be  dif- 
ferentiated sharply  from  the  mastery  of  the  mechan- 
ics of  form  which  is  essentially  the  problem  of  lan- 
guage and  spelling.  The  inability  to  recognize  this 
distinction  is  all  too  prevalent  and  in  a  large  meas- 
ure accounts  for  the  fact  that  reading  has  degene- 
rated almost  universally  into  a  mastery  of  forms,  a 
mere  pronouncing  of  words,  with  little  or  no  regard 
for  the  content  of  the  idea  which  gave  birth  and 
being  to  the  form. 

Reading  is  imaging.  It  is  a  process  of  mentally 
picturing  the  scene,  event,  thing,  which  lies  back  of 
the  words.  It  is  the  ability  to  see  things  not  present 
to  the  sense.  Out  of  man's  joys  and  sorrows,  out  of 
his  toils  and  recreations,  out  of  his  struggles,  de- 
feats, triumphs,  out  of  the  sum  total  of  his  experi- 
ences were  born  his  ideas.  And  out  of  his  yearnings 
to  communicate  these  ideas  to  his  fellow-man  was 
formulated  his  language,  the  sign  and  symbol  of  his 
ideas.  The  idea  in  the  mind,  shaped  and  defined,  ex- 


38  UTERATUBE  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

ternalized  and  embodied  itself  in  the  sign-word. 
The  function  of  the  word  lay  not  in  its  harmony  of 
sweet  sound,  in  its  phonics  or  diacritics,  but  in  its 
ability  to  convey  the  idea  which  gave  it  being  and 
significance.  The  reading  problem  is  found  in  this 
genesis  of  language.  The  end  lies  not  in  the  ability 
to  recognize  word  forms  nor  in  dexterity  in  master- 
ing these  forms  through  sound  relations,  but  it  does 
lie  in  the  ability  to  sense  the  idea  which  gave  birth, 
being  and  significance  to  the  words.  The  only  false 
association  is  the  association  of  sound  relations  and 
diacritics  as  an  end  or  even  as  a  dominant  means  to 
an  end.  This  association  takes  the  mind  from  con- 
tent to  form  and  makes  the  latter  instead  of  the  for- 
mer the  dominant  idea  in  the  reading  process.  It  is 
a  lamentable  assumption  that  the  mastery  of  the 
word  form,  as  such,  is  in  any  sense  a  fundamental 
in  the  reading  problem.  The  only  true  association  is 
the  association  of  form  with  idea.  The  only  rational 
assumption  is  that  the  mastery  of  ideas  is  the  end 
in  reading. 

Reading  is  thinking.  It  consists  not  only  in  imag- 
ing the  idea  which  lies  back  of  the  word,  but  of 
thinking  these  ideas  in  relation — in  unity.  Thoughts 
are  not  made  up  of  isolated  ideas  but  of  the  com- 
bined result  of  ideas  in  relation.  In  reading,  the 
mind  must  concentrate  itself  in  thinking  the  ideas. 
The  form  in  which  the  ideas  embody  themselves 
must  be  subordinated  to  this  end.  The  form  must 
serve  as  a  means  to  convey  the  thought — must  not 
usurp  the  place  and  prerogative  of  thought. 


LITEBATUBE   AND   THE   BEADING  PBOBLEM  39 

Reading  is  interpreting.  This  is  true  whether  the 
thing  interpreted  is  a  landscape,  an  experiment  in 
the  physical  or  chemical  laboratory,  a  sculptured 
form,  a  tinctured  canvas,  or  a  printed  page.  It  is 
the  thought  process  by  means  of  which  the  mind  be- 
comes conscious  of  the  larger  idea  within  which  the 
lesser  ideas  find  place  and  meaning.  It  is  the  means 
by  which  the  mind  becomes  conscious  of  the  theme 
or  purpose  of  the  selection.  In  its  larger  sense 
reading  is  the  process  by  virtue  of  which  the  mind 
interprets,  explains  and  classifies  the  varied  phe- 
nomena which  occasion  the  life  of  thought.  From 
this  standpoint  the  school  problem  is  the  reading 
problem.  This  reading  problem  is  the  thought  prob- 
lem with  its  converse,  the  language  problem.  It  was 
some  such  conception  which  caused  the  late  Dr. 
Harper  to  exclaim:  "  The  most  the  university  can 
aspire  to  do  is  to  teach  a  student  how  to  interpret  a 
page  correctly/' 

The  following  observation  may  serve  to  illustrate 
this  point.  On  a  field  excursion  a  large  boulder  is 
found  in  a  glaciated  valley.  It  seems  hard,  compact, 
impenetrable.  A  hole  perfectly  round  and  nearly  a 
foot  in  depth  is  discerned  in  its  side.  The  sides  of 
the  hole  show  symmetrical  borings.  This  is  the  evi- 
dence of  the  senses.  Then  through  imagery  and 
thought  the  mind  reconstructs  the  great  glacial 
movement  which  penetrated  to  and  constructed  this 
valley.  This  glacier  approaches  its  limits.  It  holds 
this  rock  firmly  in  its  icy  grasp.  Wedged  firmly 
against  it  is  a  smaller  rock  of  harder  substance. 


40  LITEKATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Now  the  forward  movement  of  the  glacier  is  re- 
tarded and  the  forces  of  disintegration  hold  sway. 
The  melting  snow  and  ice  turn  and  twist  the 
smaller  rock  which  seeks  to  anchor  itself  in  the  boul- 
der which  we  now  contemplate.  In  the  turning  and 
twisting  and  grinding  it  records  its  movement,  its 
own  tenacity,  and,  perhaps,  something  of  its  own 
composition  and  structure.  It  bears  silent  but  elo- 
quent witness  to  the  forces  which  act  upon  it.  A 
sudden  melting,  a  slide  from  the  disintegrating 
glacier  and  the  smaller  rock  is  dislodged  from  its 
moorings  perhaps  to  lie  buried  in  the  terminal  mo- 
raine. The  hole  remains  a  witness  to  its  being  and 
activity,  its  structure  and  individuality.  Thus  the 
mind  seeks  to  explain  to  its  own  satisfaction,  at 
least,  the  phenomena  with  which  it  comes  in  contact. 
So  with  a  piece  of  great  literature :  the  mind  seeks 
to  get  back  of  the  book  to  the  idea,  the  theme,  the 
purpose  which  gave  it  formal  being  and  tangible 
worth. 

Reading  is  feeling.  Surely  it  was  an  emotional 
longing  which  impelled  man  to  communicate  his 
thoughts  to  his  fellow-man,  and  surely  it  was  an 
emotional  response  which  made  the  sign  and  symbol 
of  the  one  intelligible  to  the  other.  How  the  emotion 
and  imagination  are  stirred  by  the  story  of  the 
rocks!  What  changes  and  processes  through  an 
eternity  of  time  they  have  undergone !  How  infinite 
the  design  wrought  out  in  such  heroic  proportions! 

To  teach  reading,  then,  is  to  stir  the  emotions  and 
the  imagination,  to  quicken  the  thought  and  the 


LITERATURE    AND    THE    READING   PROBLEM  41 

understanding,  to  arouse  the  feelings  and  to  unify 
them  in  harmony  with  the  thought  processes  of  the 
writer. 

As  just  indicated,  reading  in  its  largest  sense  com- 
passes the  whole  gamut  of  school  work,  but  as  popu- 
larly used,  it  limits  itself  to  the  interpretation  of 
the  written  or  printed  form.  Treated  solely  from 
this  standpoint  of  mastering  word  forms  and  rela- 
tions and  interpreting  the  thought  which  they  con- 
tain, its  importance  as  a  school  subject,  indeed  as 
the  central  school  subject,  is  at  once  apparent.  The 
ability  to  master  any  subject  depends  primarily 
upon  the  ability  to  read,  that  is,  to  interpret  the 
given  conditions  and  principles  which  give  being  and 
individuality  to  that  subject.  The  deplorable  lack 
of  ability  to  study  in  an  intelligent,  economical  man- 
ner is  proof  sufficient  that  the  aim  in  reading  has 
been,  and  is,  the  ability  to  master  word  forms,  the 
end  the  ability  to  pronounce  these  words  correctly 
at  sight.  This  glaring  perversion  of  function  must 
needs  lead  to  a  closer  study  of  the  teaching  prob- 
lem. 

The  twofold  aspect  of  form  and  content  has  been 
the  stumbling-block  in  the  teacher's  path  to  prog- 
ress in  reading.  The  tendency  always  has  been  to 
devote  time  and  energy  to  the  one  aspect  or  the 
other,  instead  of  recognizing  the  dual  aspect  and 
adjusting  the  methods  accordingly.  In  other  words, 
the  reading  idea,  the  mastery  and  interpretation  of 
thought,  has  been  confused  and  blended  with,  or 
subordinated  to,  the  language  or  form  idea,  or  the 


42  LITEBATUEE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

legitimate  demands  of  form  have  been  slighted  or 
ignored  and  its  mastery  left  to  accident,  chance  or 
caprice.  The  one  method  led  to  a  fairly  intelligent 
ability  to  interpret  thought  when  word  forms  were 
supplied,  but  left  the  learner  lame  and  blind  so  far 
as  a  mastery  of  word  forms  was  concerned.  The 
other  method,  the  one  more  universally  in  vogue,  led 
to  a  glibness  and  dexterity  in  mastering  word  forms 
and  facility  in  pronouncing  these  words  readily  at 
sight,  with  an  almost  utter  indifference  as  to  the 
content,  and  a  lamentable  inability  to  make  a  proper 
application  of  the  reading  to  the  other  studies  of  the 
school.  Is  it  assuming  too  much  to  say  that  many 
an  otherwise  intelligent  teacher  is  sadly  handicapped 
by  her  own  training  and  habit  in  this  mode  of  read- 
ing and  that  her  inability  to  interpret  a  piece  of 
literature,  that  is,  to  read  it,  is  the  rule  and  not  the 
exception  1 

If  reading  is  to  be  a  vital,  living  force  in  the 
schoolroom,  if  it  is  to  be  the  means  by  which  learn- 
ing is  to  be  effected,  the  means  by  which  every  phase 
and  form  of  school  work  is  to  be  accomplished,  the 
method  must  purposefully  and  consciously  shape  it- 
self to  provide  for  a  mastery  of  both  form  and  con- 
tent. It  must  take  cognizance  of  the  inseparable 
unity  of  this  form  and  content.  It  must  realize  that 
the  thought  is  reached  through  the  form  in  which  it 
shapes  and  defines  itself  and  through  which  it  gives 
itself  being  and  personality.  The  method  must  en- 
able the  learner  to  recognize  and  master  word 
forms,  to  be  keenly  sensitive  to  the  content  of  idea 


LITERATURE   AND   THE   READING   PROBLEM!  43 

that  lies  back  of  the  form.  It  must  enable  him  to 
sense  the  new  idea  which  arises  from  combining 
these  words  in  sentence  relation.  These  different 
phases  of  the  reading  problem  are  not  to  be  di- 
vorced, but  are  to  be  taught  as  they  find  themselves 
in  the  reading  problem,  in  relation  and  unity. 

This  twofold  phase  of  the  reading  problem  must 
be  the  determinant  of  all  methods  for  dealing  with 
the  subject.  In  the  earlier  grades  the  stress  is  on 
the  mastery  of  word  forms  unknown  to  the  eye, 
through  the  known  content.  It  is  little  short  of  a 
social  crime  to  impose  upon  the  most  helpless  class 
the  task  of  mastering  unknown  form  the  content  of 
which  is  also  unknown.  It  is  the  task  of  mastering 
two  unknown  quantities,  form  and  content,  a  task 
imposed  nowhere  else  in  the  whole  round  of  school 
life. 

In  the  succeeding  grades  the  emphasis  is  on  the 
mastery  of  unknown  content  through  the  known 
form.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  this 
method  merely  indicates  the  placing  of  the  empha- 
sis. There  is  never  a  time  when  the  one  aspect  of 
the  reading  problem  is  dealt  with  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  other.  The  movement  in  either  case  is  in 
accord  with  the  time-honored  pedagogical  maxim  of 
moving  to  the  unknown  from  the  known  by  means  of 
the  known.  The  only  difference,  to  repeat,  is  in  the 
placing  of  the  emphasis  according  to  the  needs  of 
the  learner.  There  should  never  be  the  idea  of  in- 
clusion or  exclusion.  It  is  therefore  essentially  nec- 
essary for  every  teacher  to  study  her  children,  to 


44  LITEBATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

note  carefully  what  they  have  done  and  are  capable 
of  doing.  She  should  know  where  the  children  are, 
what  capital  they  have  to  invest,  and  how  that  capi- 
tal can  be  invested  most  economically  and  advan- 
tageously. 

A  grave  defect  growing  out  of  a  lack  of  apprecia- 
tion for,  or  an  indifference  to,  the  coordinate  de- 
mands of  form  and  content,  is  the  prevalence  of 
poor  expression  in  the  oral  reading.  In  order  to 
deal  with  this  defect  intelligently  it  is  necessary  to 
note  its  cause.  As  already  hinted,  this  weakness  is 
due  either  to  a  mere  calling  of  word  forms  through 
sound  relations,  without  an  adequate  regard  for  or 
conception  of  their  function  in  expressing  ideas 
through  group  relations,  or  it  is  due  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  functional  idea  but  a  lamentable  lack  of 
mastery  of  word  forms  through  which  the  function 
is  performed.  Generally  speaking,  poor  expression 
is  the  direct  and  inevitable  result  of  poor  think- 
ing, of  indefinite  and  imperfect  comprehension  of 
thought.  It  is  the  direct  result  of  poor  teaching 
which  fails  to  make  conditions  for  stimulating  and 
defining  thought  and  for  the  adequate  expression  of 
the  thought  stimulated. 

Plainly,  then,  the  teacher's  duty  in  oral  reading 
is  to  make  conditions  for  the  clear  conception  of  the 
thought,  for  a  clear  association  of  that  thought  with 
the  form  in  which  it  is  shaped  and  fashioned  and  ex- 
pressed, and  to  stimulate  the  emotion  and  feeling 
necessary  for  its  proper  oral  expression.  These 
ideas  should  be  perceived  clearly,  not  merely  as  in- 


LITERATURE   AND   THE   BEADING  PROBLEM  45 

dividual,  isolated  ideas,  but  as  ideas  in  group  rela- 
tion, ideas  as  parts  of  an  organic  whole. 

Good  oral  reading  involves  the  ability  to  grasp 
ideas  in  group  relation  and  through  proper  vocali- 
zation to  convey  them  to  the  hearer.  It  depends 
upon  the  clear  comprehension  of  the  thought  em- 
bodied in  the  selection  and  on  the  vividness  of  imag- 
ination, and  intensity  of  emotion,  which  these  ideas 
cause.  The  ability  to  express  will  develop  in  pro- 
portion to  the  clearness  and  intensity  of  the  condi- 
tions which  the  teacher  presents  for  stirring  the 
emotions  and  imagination,  inciting  the  judgment 
and  reason  and  impelling  the  will  to  action.  Teach- 
ers should  be  firm  in  the  faith  that  all  a  teacher  can 
do  in  the  process  is  to  present  conditions  for  deter- 
mining action.  The  child  grows  through  guided 
doing.  Imitation  may  be  a  legitimate  starting-place, 
but  it  is  the  lowest  plane  of  self-expression.  The 
mother  knows  that  carrying  the  babe  or  lifting  him 
over  the  bumps  develops  no  muscle,  gives  rise  to  no 
coordination  of  mind  and  muscle,  does  not  beget 
self-direction,  self-reliance  and  self-assurance.  The 
teacher  should  know  that  the  mental  effort  of  the 
teacher  presented  for  imitation  may  develop  a  par- 
rot-like response  which  may  sometimes  pass  for 
things  accomplished  to  the  uninitiated,  but  only 
through  his  own  mental  activity,  through  purposed 
and  directed  channels  will  the  child  attain  self-con- 
trol shown  in  the  concentration  of  self  on  the  prob- 
lem at  hand;  self -direction,  the  ability  to  muster 
previous  experiences  and  to  apply  them  to  the  solu- 


46  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

tion  of  the  task;  self-assurance,  the  sublime  belief 
in  his  ability  to  meet  the  tasks  and  problems  of  his 
own  life  without  the  aid  of  physical,  mental  or  spir- 
itual crutches.  Placing  undue  stress  upon  errors, 
grammatical  constructions  and  inflections,  per  se, 
will  do  little  to  secure  cogent  thinking  and  adequate, 
fluent,  flexible  expression. 

In  order  to  cause  clear  and  concise  thinking  with 
economy  of  time  and  effort,  the  teacher  must  have 
clearly  defined  ideas  as  to  what  she  is  to  accomplish 
in  any  given  lesson  and  also  of  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  to  be  accomplished.  She  must  keep  before  her 
mind  the  universal  truth  struck  off  by  Jones: 
"The  fact  in  the  thing  and  the  law  in  the  mind,  de- 
termine the  method. ' ' 

Not  only  must  she  think  the  thought  of  the  read- 
ing lesson,  but  she  must  think  the  manner  in  which 
the  normal  mind  thinks  the  thought  and  the  various 
steps  by  means  of  which  it  comes  to  possess  the 
thought  and  to  be  possessed  by  the  thought.  She 
must  think  the  conditions  which  she  will  present  to 
cause  the  mind  to  move  through  these  steps  or 
stages  in  the  developing  process  until  it  becomes 
possessed  of  and  is  possessed  by  the  thought.  In  a 
word,  she  must  prepare  her  reading  lessons.  She 
must  think  the  form  presented  to  the  learning  mind 
in  such  manner  as  will  cause  the  mind  to  move 
through  the  form  to  the  ideas  which  lie  back  of  it 
and  to  organize  these  into  the  theme  or  purpose. 

As  has  been  stated,  the  quality  of  the  expression 
is  determined  by  the  intensity  of  emotion,  vividness 


LITERATURE   AND   THE   READING  PROBLEM  47 

of  imagination,  conciseness  of  thought  and  activity 
of  will,  and  these  are  determined  by  the  manner  in 
which  the  teacher  presents  the  subject-matter  to  the 
learning  mind.  All  this  implies  careful,  systematic, 
intelligent  planning  and  preparation  of  each  lesson. 
It  may  be  inferred,  readily  enough,  that  becoming 
familiar  with  the  thought  of  the  selection  to  be  read 
is  not  adequate  preparation  for  teaching  a  class  to 
read  the  selection.  In  fact,  the  real  preparation  be- 
gins after  the  thought  or  idea  of  the  selection  has 
been  mastered.  The  real  preparation  consists  in  de- 
vising ways  and  means  for  bringing  the  facts  in  the 
selection  and  the  mind  of  the  learner  into  harmony 
and  unity  with  economy  of  time  and  intensity  of 
effort.  This  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  the  mind 
and  the  manner  of  its  growth.  To  know  the  fact  is 
to  possess  the  tool;  to  present  conditions  whereby 
another  mind  may  come  to  possess  the  fact  is  to  pos- 
sess the  art  of  teaching.  Without  such  preparation, 
enthusiasm  and  intelligent  direction  will  be  lacking, 
and  with  these  lacking,  the  reading  lesson  will  fail 
to  perform  its  function,  will  fail  to  realize  its  own 
best  possibilities. 

The  reading  lesson  should  teach  children  how  to 
study,  how  to  group  ideas,  how  to  find  the  thread 
of  purpose  in  any  lesson,  the  thread  which  gives 
unity  of  meaning  to  the  diversity  of  detail  which 
makes  up  the  subject.  It  should  inspire  children 
with  a  love  for  knowing  and  a  desire  to  gratify  that 
desire  through  independent  doing.  It  should  inspire 
children  with  worthy  motives,  honorable  ambitions, 


48  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

high  ideals  and  a  dynamic  desire  to  realize  them. 
The  reading  period  should  be  the  period  for  fine 
living,  elevated  thinking,  a  period  for  toning  and 
dignifying  the  whole  work  of  the  school.  It  should 
be  the  period  in  which  the  large,  the  permanent,  the 
spiritual  forces  hold  sway,  and  in  which  the  char- 
acter and  stability  of  each  pupil  in  the  unfolding 
process  are  shaped  and  determined.  It  should  be 
the  period  in  which  coming  manhood  casts  its 
shadow  before. 

In  teaching  reading  the  teacher  must  keep  in  mind 
the  fact  that  education  is  a  process  of  self-realiza- 
tion, that  it  is  a  process  of  individualizing  the  social 
inheritance,  the  accumulated  experience  and  wisdom 
of  the  ages.  At  every  step  in  the  process  the  child 
is  becoming  whatever  has  been  set  up  as  the  end  to 
be  realized  in  his  development.  Teaching  in  its  best 
estate  is  making  conditions  which  insure  the  sys- 
tematic and  effective  movement  of  the  learning  mind 
from  point  to  point  and  from  growth  to  growth. 
Through  the  movement  in  reading  there  is  a  four- 
fold purpose  which  the  teacher  must  keep  in  mind 
purposefully  and  conscientiously. 

(1)  The  development  of  the  mind.  The  teacher 
presents  the  selection  to  be  studied  and  guides  the 
mind  of  the  learner  through  the  selection  as  it  re- 
solves itself  into  images,  word  pictures,  figures  of 
speech  and  whatever  else  of  detail  makes  up  the  se- 
lection as  a  whole.  Then  through  comparison,  in- 
ference, judgment  and  reason,  conditions  are  made 
for  determining  the  thread  of  purpose,  the  great 


LITERATURE   AND   THE   READING  PROBLEM  49 

central,   universal   truth   which   the   selection   em- 
bodies. 

(2)  Oral  expression.    When  the  learner  has  real- 
ized the  thought  and  form  through  guided  effort,  the 
verbal  expression,  he  should  enhance  and  intensify 
the  thought  through  adequate  oral  expression.    As 
a  work  of  art  there  must  be  unity  of  form  and  con- 
tent, and  when  the  child  has  set  the  thought  in  the 
artistic  form  given  to  it  by  the  author,  and  has  given 
intelligent  and  adequate  expression  to  it,  he  has  in- 
tensified his  own  thought,  dignified  his  own  form. 
This  sharp  association  of  thought  and  form  is  one 
of  the  most  vital  factors  in  the  language-reading 
problem. 

(3)  The  result  of  the  study.    In  all  selections  of 
worthy  literature  the  result  which  the  learner  has 
been  guided  in  securing  must  find  an  abiding  place 
in  his  own  spirit.     He  must  be  brought  into  har- 
mony, unity,  identity,  with  the  spirit-thought  and  its 
expression  must  be  self-revelatory.    It  must  be  self- 
expression  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term. 

(4)  Self-mastery.    Whatever  the  teacher  has  in 
the  way  of  freedom — whatever  she  has  in  the  way  of 
power  to  realize  herself  and  to  express  herself  un- 
aided in  the  study  and  appreciation  of  any  selection 
—that  freedom,  that  power  is  the  right  of  every 
child,  and  his  energies  must  be  systematically,  intel- 
ligently, and  persistently  guided  in  that  direction. 
The  beginning  of  the  making  of  conditions  for  the 
child 's  activity  and  growth  must  also  be  the  begin- 
ning of  his  making  conditions  for  his  own  activity 


50  UTEBATUBB  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

and  growth,  his  being  and  becoming.  Not  until  he 
can  determine  his  own  growth  and  movement,  self- 
directed  and  self -aided,  can  he  be  said  to  be  educated. 
This  self -direction  is  the  desired  end.  Every  step  in 
the  educative  process  is  a  means  to  its  attainment 
and  fulfillment. 

Reading  affords  splendid  opportunities  for  test- 
ing this  power.  In  selections  of  types  similar  to 
those  studied  under  the  guidance  of  the  teacher  the 
test  may  be  made  of  the  ability  to  invest  acquired 
capital  in  the  unaided  interpretation  and  expression 
of  similar  selections.  The  power  and  possibilities 
of  the  learner  must  determine  the  depth  of  analysis 
and  the  fitness  of  expression,  not  the  mature  inter- 
pretation of  the  teacher.  In  similar  selections  the 
teacher  may  guide  the  growing  mind  to  a  fuller 
sense  of  its  own  powers  and  possibilities  and  lead  to 
a  deeper  significance  given  to  its  own  doing  and  a 
keener  appreciation  of  the  thought  and  form  subject 
to  its  study. 


CHAPTER   IV 
METHODS  IN  LITERATURE 

To  approach  the  study  of  literature  in  particular 
it  is  necessary  first  to  discuss  the  teaching  process 
in  general,  its  aims  and  purposes.  The  "fate  of  the 
man  child "  has  engaged  the  philosophic  thought  for 
many  ages,  and  the  modern  school  is  society's  latest 
attempt  to  solve  the  problem  in  a  large  and  general 
way.  The  inspiration  of  the  teacher's  work  is  the 
fact  that  under  her  skill,  guidance  and  direction  the 
child  tends  to  become  what  ever  she  purposes  he  shall 
be,  if  she  will  but  gain  insight  into  his  nature  and 
build  from  within.  This  development  along  pur- 
posed lines  is  the  essence  of  teaching,  the  highest 
aim  and  purpose  of  the  school. 

Occasionally  lecturers,  to  tickle  the  popular  fancy, 
advance  the  thought  that  teachers  are  not  positive 
factors  in  molding  and  shaping  the  destinies  of  so- 
ciety and  the  nation.  Such  lecturers  handle  vaguely 
the  terms  "  imitation "  and  "  suggestion, "  and  have 
a  confused  meaning  for  "the  mob  mind."  Their 
position  may  be  the  correct  one,  yet  when  we  reflect 
that  the  teachers  in  the  public  schools  of  this  country 
number  more  than  half  a  million,  that  the  children 
between  the  ages  of  five  and  eighteen  who  attend 
school  number  more  than  twenty-two  millions,  that 


52  LITEEATUEE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

the  annual  expenditures  on  the  public  schools 
amount  to  more  than  two  hundred  fifty  million  dol- 
lars, we  are  forced  to  ask  ourselves  whether  this 
army  of  teachers  is  employed,  this  vast  expenditure 
made,  whether  this  tremendous  amount  of  energy  is 
expended  for  the  individual  comfort,  convenience  or 
advancement  of  any  individual  teacher  or  pupil. 
We  must  also  ask  ourselves  whether  it  is  possible  for 
this  great  body  of  teachers  to  work  with  and  upon 
such  a  large  percentage  of  the  entire  population, 
during  the  impressionable  age  of  childhood,  and  yet 
have  no  influence  in  shaping  the  future  society  which 
these  pupils  are  to  form  and  in  transforming  the  so- 
ciety which  they  now  do  form.  Is  it  reasonable  to 
assume  that  this  money  is  expended,  that  these 
teachers  are  employed,  that  these  children  are  ac- 
commodated by  those  who  now  constitute  the  state 
in  order  that  the  accumulated  treasures  of  the  ages 
may  be  preserved  and  the  ideals  of  the  race  finally 
be  realized?  It  is  true  that  the  school  reflects  the 
ideals  of  society.  It  is  also  true  that  the  school  in 
no  small  way  shapes  and  modifies  the  conscious 
ideals  of  society.  In  a  more  fundamental  way  the 
teacher  shapes  the  future  because  one  function  of 
the  school  is  to  cause  the  individual  student  to  set 
up  and  to  aspire  toward  worthy  ideals,  and  in  the 
aggregate  of  individual  ideals  the  social  ideal  is 
formed.  The  social  ideal  can  only  be  concreted  in 
the  ideal  of  the  individual. 

Schools  exist  because  the  children  of  men  are  dis- 
tinctive among  the  products   of   creative   energy. 


METHODS  IN  LITERATURE  53 

They  are  unique  because  they  can  set  up  and  con- 
sciously and  purposefully  aspire  toward  a  definite 
end  or  ideal.  At  every  step  of  the  educative  process 
the  child  is  becoming  whatever  has  been  set  up  as 
the  end.  Whatever  the  teacher  has  in  the  way  of 
freedom — whatever  she  has  in  the  way  of  power  to 
realize  herself — is  the  child 9s  right,  and  toward  this 
freedom  his  energies  must  be  directed  constantly, 
toward  it  he  must  constantly  aspire.  The  greatest 
thing  a  teacher  can  do  for  a  child  is  to  inspire  him 
with  a  love  for  worthy  ideals  and  a  desire  and  a  de- 
termination to  realize  them. 

Luther  Burbank,  in  the  quiet  seclusion  of  his 
study,  conceives  an  ideal  rose,  then  in  the  garden  of 
his  conscious  and  purposeful  labor,  through  his  un- 
derstanding of  the  laws  of  plant  life — through  his 
insight  into  the  life  factors  of  soil,  warmth,  moist- 
ure and  light  in  a  delicately  tinted  creation  —  he  real- 
izes his  ideal.  This  is  an  accomplished  fact  in  the 
plant  world.  May  it  be  assuming  too  much  to  be- 
lieve that  the  teacher,  working  on  soul  material  that 
admits  of  more  infinite  possibilities  than  the  mate- 
rial of  the  plant  world,  in  her  hour  of  meditation  in 
the  quiet  seclusion  of  her  study,  may  conceive  of  a 
worthy  ideal  for  the  pupils  under  her  care  and  guid- 
ance, and,  through  her  understanding  of  the  facts 
and  forces  of  spiritual  development  —  through  her 
understanding  of  the  factors  of  soil,  moisture, 
warmth  and  light — the  factors  of  material  and  spir- 
itual life  and  growth — may,  through  conscious  effort 
realize  her  ideal  in  the  manly  man,  the  womanly 


54  LITERATUKE  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

woman,  the  most  practical  product  of  the  most  prac- 
tical school?  Surely  the  possibility  is  inspiring  and 
alluring!  Surely  its  realization  will  dignify  and 
glorify  the  profession  of  the  teacher ! 

The  great  ideals  of  the  ages  are  preserved  in  lit- 
erature. Through  its  effective  study  worthy  ideals 
of  life  may  be  set  up  and  worthily  realized.  Through 
the  guided  study  of  literature  the  teacher  may  as- 
pire to  cause  her  pupils  to  approach  her  spiritual 
ideal. 

Methods: 

The  method  which  a  teacher  follows  in  the  study 
of  a  selection  in  literature  must  be  determined 
largely  by  the  desired  end  in  the  study.  Whether 
the  story  be  told  as  a  whole  in  order  to  preserve  the 
unity  of  the  selection  before  proceeding  to  deal  with 
the  subject  matter  in  detail,  must  be  settled  from  the 
standpoint  of  considering  the  subject  matter  as  the 
means  or  the  end  in  the  educative  process.  If  the 
knowledge  of  the  subject  matter  is  the  only  desired 
end  then  the  telling  of  the  story  justifies  itself;  but 
if  the  development  of  the  intellectual  and  emotional 
and  imaginative  nature  of  the  child  is  also  a  vital 
factor  in  the  study  of  the  selection,  and  this  study  is 
regarded  as  a  means  in  the  process  of  development, 
then  the  discovery  of  unity  in  the  diversity  of  detail 
is  the  goal  toward  which  the  teacher  directs  the 
study.  It  is  the  final  end  and  aim  to  be  reached  by 
the  learner  through  his  own  effort  and  not  the  be- 
ginning to  be  thrust  upon  him  by  the  teacher. 


METHODS  IN   LITERATURE  55 

The  function  of  the  study  of  literature  is  to  reach 
the  thought  of  the  author,  in  a  relative  sense  at  least, 
as  an  outcome  of  the  study,  to  reach  the  plane  which 
he  occupied  at  the  beginning.  The  reader  and  the 
author  begin  at  the  opposite  poles  in  dealing  with  a 
selection.  The  author  chooses  his  theme,  then 
through  figures  of  speech,  through  word  painting, 
and  all  the  details  of  plan  and  picture,  seeks  to  drive 
home  the  great  universal  truth  which  he  has  exter- 
nalized in  the  creation  of  his  fancy.  The  reader 
begins  with  the  details,  the  pictures,  word  paintings, 
figures  of  speech,  etc.,  and  through  imagination, 
comparison  and  inference  finds  the  thread  of  pur- 
pose, the  great  central,  universal  truth  which  the 
seer,  the  author,  has  embodied  in  the  form. 

There  are  two  more  factors  an  attitude  toward 
which  determines  the  method.  These  factors  with 
which  we  must  deal  in  the  study  of  any  work  of  art 
are  form  and  content.  It  frequently  has  been  said 
of  one  school  that  it  merely  aims  to  get  the  thought 
without  laying  any  particular  stress  on  the  form, 
and  of  another  school  that  it  lays  the  whole  stress  on 
a  knowledge  of  the  form  with  little  regard  for  the 
content  of  thought.  Either  view  at  best  is  very  su- 
perficial. It  seems  impossible  to  think  the  form 
without  also  and  at  the  same  time  thinking  the  form 
of  what?  It  seems  equally  impossible  to  think  the 
thought  without  also  thinking  the  thought  as  shap- 
ing and  defining  itself  through  form.  Is  it  not  more 
rational  to  think  form  and  content  as  inseparable? 
When  the  artist  has  revealed  his  thought  in  the  only 


56  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

form  that  can  adequately  express  the  idea,  is  it  a 
difficult  matter  to  believe  that  there  can  be  no  change 
in  the  form  without  a  corresponding  change  in  the 
thought!  Is  the  simplified  form  of  " Hiawatha "  the 
spiritual  uplift  of  the  poet  in  his  great  epic?  Does 
it  make  the  appeal  and  express  the  feeling  the  poet 
makes  and  feels  when  he  exclaims : 

"  Ye  whose  hearts  are  pure  and  simple, 
Who  have  faith  in  God  and  Nature, 
Who  believe  that  in  all  ages 
Every  human  heart  is  human, 
That  in  even  savage  bosoms 
There  are  longings,  yearnings,  strivings 
For  the  good  they  comprehend  not, 
That  the  feeble  hands  and  helpless, 
Groping  blindly  in  the  darkness, 
Touch  God's  right  hand  in  that  darkness 
And  are  lifted  up  and  strengthened : — 
Listen  to  this  simple  story, 
To  this  song  of  Hiawatha !  " 

When  the  reader  has  come  to  a  realization  of  the 
author 's  thought  and  an  appreciation  of  the  form  in 
which  it  is  embodied,  he  has  given  verbal  expression 
to  the  thought ;  and  when  he  has  uttered  the  words 
in  such  manner  as  will  cause  the  hearers  to  see  and 
feel  with  him,  he  has  given  vocal  expression  to  the 
thought.  This  latter  attainment  is  the  more  difficult 
art  for  it  requires  the  expression  of  a  set  idea  in  a 
set  form.  It  is  an  end  to  be  attained  worthily  be- 
cause it  carries  with  it  the  idea  of  giving  as  well  as 
of  getting.  The  art  of  teaching  reading  which  cul- 
minates in  this  oral  expression  lies  in  arousing  the 


METHODS   IN    LITEKATUKE  57 

emotion  and  feeling  and  thought  necessary  for  ex- 
pressing this  set  idea  in  the  set  form.  Memorizing 
synonyms  and  other  substitute  expressions  is  worse 
than  useless.  Beautiful  ideas  are  separate  and  dis- 
tinct creations  and  they  admit  of  no  substitution. 
As  well  might  one  attempt  to  simplify  a  beautiful 
piece  of  Greek  sculpture  with  hammer  and  chisel,  or 
to  simplify  the  idea  embodied  on  the  glowing  canvas 
by  substituting  a  chromo,  as  to  attempt  to  reveal 
the  spirit  of  literature  by  an  arbitrary  change  of 
form. 

In  all  oral  expression  the  proper  test  is  the  ability 
of  the  reader  to  fascinate  his  hearers  with  the 
thought  uttered  and  to  leave  the  hearers  as  uncon- 
scious as  possible  of  the  reader.  Any  gesture,  any 
peculiarity  of  emphasis  or  accent  that  calls  the  at- 
tention to  the  reader  and  from  the  thought  read  is 
affectation  and  not  art.  The  ideal  expression  leaves 
the  hearers  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  the  reader  is 
causing  their  thinking,  of  the  fact  that  the  reality  is 
not  before  them  all  of  the  time. 

Modes  of  Expression: 

As  has  been  stated  in  another  chapter,  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  imagination  in  the  study  of  literature  is 
very  essential,  and  the  images  or  pictures  should  be 
well  defined.  But  the  image,  the  picture,  is  but  a 
means  to  an  end.  The  thought  expressed  through  it 
is  something  other  than  the  picture.  A  picture  or 
image  may  cause  a  thought  but  it  is  not  the  thought. 
Through  the  pictures  and  images  in  a  piece  of  lit- 


58  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

erature  the  reader  approaches  the  author '&  thought, 
but  in  order  to  understand  the  thought  thoroughly 
it  is  necessary  to  understand  the  basis  of  thought. 
In  the  study  of  ' l  Evangeline, ' '  for  example,  an  abun- 
dance of  beautiful  word  pictures  will  be  found 
through  which  and  uniting  which  flows  the  thread  of 
purpose,  the  ideal  love  that  hopes  and  endures  and 
is  patient.  In  Whittier's  "In  School  Days"  there 
is  the  picture  of  the  quaint,  old,  dilapidated  school- 
house,  evidencing  the  wreck  of  time  on  the  outside, 
and  the  wreck  by  the  forces  of  spontaneous  activity 
on  the  inside  which  is  suggestive  of  the  first,  crude 
beginnings  of  manual  training  and  art  in  the  school- 
room. The  pictures  in  this  poem  are  but  the  means 
through  which  the  simple  but  beautiful  lesson  is 
taught.  It  is  by  means  of  the  picture  that  Lowell 
impresses  upon  the  reader  of  the  lines:  "  As  Sir 
Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate," 
etc.,  the  wholesome  lesson  that  this  child  of  fortune 
could  not  find  himself  in  the  leper  and  thereby  dis- 
qualified himself  for  finding  the  Holy  Grail  by  fol- 
lowing in  the  steps  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Master. 
In  his  picture  of  Scrooge,  with  a  "frosty  rime  upon 
his  head  and  on  his  eyebrows  and  on  his  wiry  chin, ' ' 
Dickens  tells  of  the  man  who  apparently  was  full  of 
internal  and  external  frost,  utterly  devoid  of  human 
feeling  and  sympathy,  but  who  through  trial  and 
struggle  proved  himself  capable  of  becoming  sub- 
limely altruistic. 

(By  means  of  drawings  these  pictures  may  be 
sharpened  and  more  clearly  defined.) 


METHODS   IN   LITERATURE  59 

Dramatization : 

The  function  of  dramatization  is  to  objectify  the 
mental  image  and  by  this  means  to  re-intensify  the 
idea  which  it  embodies.  Dramatization  is  an  aid  to 
the  expression  of  imagination,  feeling  and  emotion; 
as  a  means  of  vivid  imaging  it  has  a  legitimate  place 
in  the  schoolroom  in  the  teaching  of  literature. 
However,  teachers  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  all  objective  representation  is  on  a  sensuous 
basis,  and  that  the  highest  flight  has  not  been 
reached  until,  through  the  study,  the  reader  has 
risen  above  the  sensuous  to  the  spiritual  conception 
to  which  the  image,  the  picture,  was  but  the  means. 
The  great  dramas  of  Shakspere  are  a  mighty  force 
and  power,  for,  despite  the  glitter  and  trappings  of 
the  stage,  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  costume,  a  thrill 
of  real,  spiritual  life  is  felt  in  and  through  them  all. 
But  it  is  possible  to  so  study  a  play  of  Shakspere 's 
that  no  outer  presentation,  plus  all  the  panoply  of 
the  painted  stage,  can  equal  the  mental  construction 
which  the  reader  has  made;  hence  the  disappoint- 
ment in  witnessing  a  rendering  of  Hamlet  by  even  a 
Mansfield  or  an  Irving.  Through  the  study  of  great 
literature  we  may  rise  to  the  conception  of  the 
drama  voiced  by  Aurora  Leigh : 

"  The  growing  drama  has  outgrown  such  toys 
Of  simulated  stature,  face  and  speech; 
It  also  peradventure  may  outgrow 
The  simulation  of  the  painted  scene, 
Boards,  actors,  prompters,  gaslights,  and  costume, 
And  take  for  a  worthier  stage  the  soul  itself, 


60  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Its  shifting  fancies  and  celestial  lights, 

"With  all  its  grand  orchestral  silences 

To  keep  the  pauses  of  the  rhythmic  sounds." 

Dramatization,  making,  drawing,  as  modes  of  ex- 
pression all  have  a  legitimate  place  in  the  study  of 
literature  while  the  study  of  the  selection  is  still  in 
progress,  that  is,  while  the  readers  are  still  dealing 
with  the  data  by  means  of  which  they  will  arrive  at 
the  author's  thought  or  purpose.  By  means  of 
these  modes  the  imagination  may  be  intensified  and 
strengthened,  and  through  the  imagination  the 
reader  may  be  enabled  to  see  things  not  present  to 
the  senses,  and,  by  their  recall  build  the  parts  into 
a  united  whole.  When  this  last  and  highest  point 
has  been  reached,  the  point  to  which  all  of  the  parts 
were  but  the  means  of  approach,  there  must  be  re- 
sort to  no  form  of  expression  that  tends  to  lower 
the  plane  of  thought,  that  tends  to  replace  the  spir- 
itual by  the  sensual.  This  point  may  be  illustrated 
by  taking  liberties  with  a  thought  suggested  by  Prof. 
W.  W.  Black  of  the  University  of  Indiana :  After  a 
class  has  made  a  study  of  Longfellow 's  "  Building 
of  the  Ship,"  and  in  and  through  the  study  each 
reader  has  built  up  not  only  a  great  ship  of  state 
freighted  with  the  destinies  of  democracy  and  the 
nation,  but  has  also  built  up  a  great  spiritual  ship 
freighted  with  the  destinies  of  an  individual  life; 
when  each  has  come  to  realize  the  intensity  of  the 
poem  in  the  lines : 

"  Ah,  if  our  souls  but  poise  and  swing 
Like  the  compass  in  its  brazen  ring, 


METHODS   IN    LITEKATUKE  61 

Ever  level  and  ever  true 

To  the  toil  and  the  task  we  have  to  do, 

We  shall  sail  securely  and  safely  reach 

The  Fortunate  Isles,  on  whose  shining  beach 

The  sights  we  see,  and  the  sounds  we  hear, 

Will  be  those  of  joy  and  not  of  fear !  " 

what  a  travesty  on  correlation  it  is  to  send  the 
class  to  the  manual  training  room  to  make  a  mud 
scow! 

There  is  another  phase  of  correlation  which  may 
be  equally  dissipating  in  its  effects  on  the  selection 
studied.  This  may  be  illustrated  from  Whittier's 
"Nauhaught,  the  Deacon. "  Whittier  says: 

"  Nauhaught,  the  Indian  deacon,  who  of  old 
Dwelt,  poor  but  blameless,  where  his  narrowing  Cape 
Stretches  its  shrunk  arm  out  to  all  the  winds 
And  the  relentless  smiting  of  the  waves, 
Awoke  one  morning  from  a  pleasant  dream 
Of  a  good  angel  dropping  in  his  hand 
A  fair,  broad  gold-piece,  in  the  name  of  God." 

The  teacher  who  does  not  comprehend  the  pur- 
pose and  spirit  of  correlation  may  now  pause  to 
have  the  children  draw  a  map  of  New  England,  lo- 
cating Cape  Cod,  and  then  proceed  to  make  a  de- 
tailed study  of  the  physical  facts  and  forces  of  that 
wild  New  England  coast,  the  weathering  of  wind 
and  wave,  the  force  of  resistance  which  withstands 
their  fury ;  or  she  may  take  up  the  historical  aspect 
and  deal  with  the  causes  that  drove  the  early  pio- 
neers across  the  sea,  with  their  hardships  and  perils 
and  privations,  with  their  perseverance,  patience, 


62  LITERATUEB   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

fortitude,  courage;  or  she  may  deal  with  their  at- 
tempts to  convert  the  Indians  to  Christianity;  or 
she  may  take  up  the  art  phase  and  lead  the  class  to 
imagine  a  sky,  heavy,  ominous,  threatening  with  the 
dense,  low-hanging  storm-cloud,  the  waves  lashed 
to  fury  by  the  gods  of  the  tempest,  and  as  the  pupil 
imagines  himself  on  the  desolate  coast  in  the  midst 
of  that  awful  sublimity  and  grandeur  of  the  storm, 
have  him  record  his  emotion  and  feeling  in  color! 
Any  or  all  of  these  topics  may  be  of  interest  and  in- 
structive in  and  of  themselves,  but  when  the  study 
is  the  analysis  of  the  selection  under  discussion  they 
only  justify  themselves  when  they  are  indispensable 
factors  in  the  interpretation  of  the  selection  studied. 
The  purpose  of  the  study  of  any  selection  in  lit- 
erature has  reached  its  highest  and  most  worthy 
possibility  when  the  reader  really  lives  the  ideal  life 
for  the  half  hour  at  least ;  when  he  feels  himself  in 
and  through  the  struggle  and  finally  crowns  himself 
victor.  When  the  storm  and  stress  of  real  life,  in- 
tense and  grimly  earnest,  assail  him,  then  the 
strength,  born  of  this  hour  of  quiet  study,  will  enable 
him  to  stand  like  a  tower  of  strength  and  to  with- 
stand successfully  all  the  strain  and  fury  of  life's 
tempest.  Amid  all  the  doubt  and  discouragement 
and  lack  of  sympathetic  approval  he  will  rise  to  the 
optimistic  uplift  and  outlook  of  vision  of  Edmond 
Rostand,  as  witnessed  in  his  lines : 

"  And  what  should  a  man  do  ?  Work  without  concern  of  for- 
tune or  of  glory  to  accomplish  the  heart's  desired  journey!  Put 
forth  nothing  that  has  not  its  springs  in  the  very  heart,  yet, 


METHODS   IN    LITERATURE  63 

modest,  say  to  himself,  '  Old  man,  be  satisfied  with  blossoms,  fruit, 
yea,  leaves  alone,  so  they  be  gathered  in  your  garden  and  not  an- 
other man's ! '  Then  if  it  happens  that  to  some  small  extent  he 
triumphs,  be  obliged  to  render  of  the  glory  to  Caesar,  not  one  jot, 
but  honestly  appropriate  it  all.  In  short,  scorning  to  be  the 
parasite,  the  creeper,  if  even  failing  to  be  the  oak,  rise,  not  per- 
chance to  a  great  height — but  rise  alone !  " 

Story-telling: 

The  study  of  literature  in  the  grades  may  well 
begin  with  stories,  rhymes,  jingles,  chants,  memory 
gems.  The  nursery  rhymes  and  jingles  of  the  home 
may  serve  as  the  connecting  link  between  the  litera- 
ture of  the  home  and  the  literature  of  the  school, 
from  which  and  through  which  the  little  minds  may 
be  led  to  the  literature  of  life,  of  right  living  and 
high  thinking,  to  the  best  that  man  has  thought  and 
felt  and  expressed. 

It  scarcely  seems  necessary  to  pause  to  mention 
the  great  importance  of  story-telling  in  the  early 
years  of  school  work,  or  of  its  permanent  influence 
in  quickening  the  emotions  and  feelings,  strengthen- 
ing the  imagination  and  intellect,  and  laying  the 
foundations  for  ethical  and  moral  judgments  in  all 
social  relations.  Children  naturally  live  in  the 
world  of  the  imaginative,  of  the  fanciful,  the 
world  of  the  ideal.  They  glory  in  this  world  with- 
out bounds  or  limits.  They  find  themselves  in  the 
mighty  doers  of  the  past,  the  heroes  of  old  who 
wrought  majestically  on  a  worthy  scale.  In  their 
deeds,  the  children  familiarize  themselves  with  zeal, 
with  courage,  with  unselfishness,  with  devotion  to 


64  LITEBATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

duty,  with  the  joy  of  achieving  worthily  in  a  right- 
eous cause.  In  these  struggles  and  obstacles  the 
children  acquaint  themselves  with  the  problems  of 
pain  and  privation ;  of  selfishness  and  faithlessness ; 
of  untrustworthiness ;  of  the  petty,  the  mean,  the 
contemptible.  Approaching  these  problems  in  this 
far-off,  objective  way,  the  children  lay  a  foundation 
upon  which  to  rear,  to  appreciate  and  to  understand 
their  own  personal  experiences.  (How  many  par- 
ents there  are  who  are  suddenly  aroused  to  the  fact 
that  the  negative  side  of  this  world's  life  has  been 
thrust  upon  their  children  untempered  by  any  ob- 
jective experience  to  soften  the  blow,  to  modify  the 
shock!  How  this  fact  has  struck  home  in  the  look 
and  tone  of  the  little  questioner  as  he  asks:  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  of  this?"  It  was  his  right  to 
know.) 

When  the  clouds  hang  heavy  and  somber  on  the 
horizon  of  life,  as 

"  The  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again — " 

has  struck  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  individual, 
there  should  be  a  sustaining  faith  in  the  ultimate 
triumph  of  righteousness  born  of  the  far-off,  the  ob- 
jective experience.  This  strength  born  of  the  strug- 
gle and  hardship  and  privation  in  the  objective,  the 
far-off,  will  be  tested  sorely  enough  when  the  prob- 
lems of  sorrow  and  pain  and  loss,  as  well  as  those  of 
hope  and  joy  and  triumph,  come  to  each  with  per- 
sonal significance  and  meaning. 


METHODS   IN   LITERATURE  65 

For  an  illustration  of  the  nse  and  power  of  the 
story  as  a  factor  in  moral  and  spiritual  training, 
one  needs  must  turn  to  the  Master  who  taught  them 
saying: 

"  Behold  a  man  went  forth  to  sow ; 

"  And  when  he  sowed,  some  seeds  fell  by  the  wayside,  and  the 
fowls  came  and  devoured  them  up. 

"  Some  fell  upon  stony  places  where  they  had  not  much  earth : 
and  forthwith  they  sprung  up,  because  they  had  no  deepness  of 
earth: 

"And  when  the  sun  was  up  they  were  scorched;  and  because 
they  had  no  root  they  withered  away. 

"  And  some  fell  among  thorns ;  and  the  thorns  sprung  up  and 
choked  them. 

"  But  others  fell  into  good  ground,  and  brought  forth  fruit, 
some  an  hundredfold,  some  sixtyfold,  some  thirtyfold. 

"  Who  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear." 

Manner  of  Story-telling: 

If  the  cold,  expressionless  type  is  to  be  made  to 
glow  with  feeling  and  to  thrill  with  life ;  if  the  soul 
is  to  respond  to  the  music  and  tenderness  of  verse ; 
if  the  moral  judgment  is  to  attune  itself  with  truth 
and  justice  and  mercy,  it  will  be  because  the  teacher 
molds  an  ideal  in  thought  and  expression  as  she 
feels  her  own  emotion  and  feeling  respond  to  the 
feeling  and  thought  and  spirit  of  the  story.  Her 
feelings  must  be  natural  and  spontaneous,  not  su- 
perficial and  forced.  Children  readily  detect  the 
metallic  ring  of  the  false  note.  Her  articulation, 
enunciation,  modulation,  must  be  clear,  sweet,  beau- 
tiful. Her  appreciation  and  spirit  must  record 
themselves  in  voice  and  eye,  in  the  expression  of 


66  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

face  and  form.  She  must  cultivate  the  art  of  story- 
telling as  practiced  by  the  story-tellers  of  old,  the 
harpers  and  Homers  who  kept  alive  the  fervor  and 
passion  of  a  people. 

Unfortunate  is  the  class  whose  teacher  feels  that 
she  must  always  lean  on  a  book,  must  always  permit 
a  book  to  come  between  herself  and  her  class !  The 
eye,  the  look,  the  tone,  all  lose  in  force,  intensity  and 
power  through  the  reading.  How  doubly  unfortu- 
nate is  the  class  whose  teacher  reads  to  the  class 
through  the  book,  lifeless,  monotonous,  spiritless! 
What  a  spirit  thus  enkindled,  what  an  ideal  of  ex- 
pression thus  formed! 

Reproduction  of  the  Story: 

In  the  reproduction  of  the  story  the  imagination 
may  be  made  to  kindle  anew,  the  vocabulary  may  be 
increased,  the  ideals  of  expression  may  tend  to  real- 
ize themselves,  the  future  language  work  may  have 
its  genesis.  And  what  an  opportunity  is  here  to  cul- 
tivate a  musical  reading  voice — an  opportunity  all 
too  often  sadly  ignored,  if  one  may  judge  by  the 
monotonous  tone  of  many  schoolrooms.  By  means 
of  phonic  drills  through  jingle  and  chant,  the 
muscles  and  cords  may  be  trained  to  proper  ad- 
justment, the  enunciation,  articulation,  pronuncia- 
tion and  modulation  may  be  rendered  soft  and  sweet 
and  clear  and  musical  and  beautiful.  In  fact,  the 
educative  possibilities  through  the  story  are  mani- 
fold to  the  teacher  who  has  eyes  to  see,  the  heart 
to  feel,  the  will  to  do. 


METHODS   IN   LITEEATUEE  67 

Basis  for  Selection: 

After  the  teacher  has  realized  the  manner  of 
story-telling,  the  next  consideration  is  the  basis  for 
selecting  stories  to  be  told.  Much  valuable  time  may 
be  wasted  in  debating  the  relative  merits  of  partic- 
ular stories  and  their  adaptation  to  the  age,  the 
needs,  the  conditions,  of  this  or  that  particular 
class.  However,  is  there  not  a  possibility  for  gen- 
eral agreement  in  the  selection  of  stories  that  have 
stood  the  test  of  time?  Stories  that  deal  with  the 
ultimate  triumph  of  truth  and  goodness  and  beauty 
and  light  and  love?  Stories  that  are  full  of  whole- 
some humor  and  innocent  amusement,  however  im- 
possible the  fact  detailed? 

The  stories  which  have  found  a  counterpart  in 
every  clime  and  among  all  people,  the  myth,  fairy 
tale,  legend,  which  have  stimulated  the  generations 
of  men  and  record  their  abiding  sense  in  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  right;  that  lifted  them  above  the 
obstacles  and  the  discouragements  of  the  present  to 
a  faith  in  a  more  wholesome  future,  are  worthy  of 
serious  consideration  on  the  part  of  any  teacher. 
The  stories  of  heroic  action,  of  mighty  valor,  of 
heroes  who  annihilate  time  and  space,  who  are  un- 
daunted by  any  obstacles,  who  are  stimulated  to 
vigorous  action  by  the  very  difficulties  themselves, 
are  worthy  types  and  ideals  to  ponder  over,  to  ad- 
mire and  to  emulate.  The  stories  of  the  mysterious, 
the  awe-full,  the  wonder-full,  which  cause  the  imag- 
ination to  soar  aloft  on  spirit  wings,  and  the  spirit 
to  glow  with  a  new  thrill  at  the  wonder  and  majesty 


68  LITEKATUBE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

and  full-ness  of  life,  form  a  worthy  basis  for  inter- 
preting a  wonder-full  world. 

What  a  world  of  wonder  this  matter-of-fact  old 
world  is  when  viewed  irrespective  of  the  fundamen- 
tal life  problems  of  food,  clothing  and  shelter ! — the 
apparent  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun;  the  phases 
of  the  moon;  the  planetary  and  stellar  movements; 
the  rejuvenation  of  the  springtime ;  the  f ruitfulness 
of  summer;  the  golden  glory  of  autumn;  the  quiet- 
ness and  restfulness  of  winter;  the  apparent  shift- 
ing of  the  sun's  position  during  these  phases  of  the 
earth's  life;  the  institutions  of  society;  the  inven- 
tions of  industry  and  fancy  in  the  industrial  world, 
in  art,  in  music,  in  poetry  and  painting  and  sculp- 
ture ;  in  family  life ;  and  man  himself,  his  ability  to 
know  and  to  do ;  to  aspire  and  to  be  and  to  become ; 
his  mastery  over  the  physical  facts  and  forces  of  his 
environment ;  his  contemplation  of  the  life  spiritual ! 
How  wonder-full  it  all  is!  How  majestical!  How 
awe-inspiring !  Oh,  the  pity  of  an  imagination  dead- 
ened and  an  intellect  dulled  through  the  sordid  pur- 
suit of  gain ! — a  pursuit  that  sinks  all  the  wonder  and 
mystery  and  beauty  of  life  into  the  commonplace! 
How  more  than  passing  strange  that  an  assumed 
knowledge  of  the  law  can  conceal  the  mystery  and 
majesty  and  wonder-full-ness  of  the  fact ! 

Through  the  myths  and  legends  and  tales  of 
flower  and  bird,  of  sun  and  storm  and  the  varying 
aspects  of  nature ;  in  the  legends  and  romances  and 
hero  tales  of  wholesome  adventure  and  worthy 
achievement,  of  knights  mighty  in  battle,  of  friend- 


METHODS   IN   LITERATURE  69 

ships  and  valor,  of  heroic  courage  and  devotion  to 
duty,  let  us  lift  the  children  to  a  realization  of  the 
wonder -full-ness  of  all  being,  the  majesty  of  all  life, 
the  glory  of  all  law ! ! 

Literature  and  the  Reading  Problem: 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  direct  the  attention  to 
the  consideration  of  literature  in  its  relation  to 
learning  to  read  by  inquiring  whether  the  difficulties 
involved  in  learning  to  read  have  not  been  rendered 
more  difficult  by  the  use  of  the  short,  choppy  sen- 
tence-paragraph style  of  structure — a  style  so  prev- 
alent in  our  "readers  for  beginners. "  These  sen- 
tence-paragraphs are  limited  in  thought,  in  emotion 
and  imaginative  stimulus,  with  little  or  no  appeal  to 
the  intellect.  Their  sole  excuse  for  being  lies  in  the 
fact  that  they  afford  an  opportunity  to  fix  a  few 
words  in  memory.  The  lack  of  tension  in  the 
thought  has  been  responsible  for  the  lack  of  genuine, 
spontaneous  interest  and  attention  on  the  part  of 
the  learner,  rather  than  any  inherent  difficulty  in 
learning  to  read  or  to  any  limitation  on  the  part  of 
the  learner. 

The  most  serious  fallacy  to  which  this  sentence- 
paragraph  structure  has  led  has  been  the  idea  that 
the  learner  should  come  in  contact  with  but  a  few 
words  each  day,  and  therefore  the  changes  must  of 
necessity  be  rung  on  conventional  words  and  phrases 
in  sentences  constructed  for  that  purpose  and  for 
none  other.  With  this  idea  dominating  the  reading, 
contact  with  words  was  deemed  primarily  of  more 


70  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

importance  than  the  stimulus  of  contact  with  ideas. 
The  number  of  words  memorised  or  spelled  became 
the  measure  of  the  fulness  of  being. 

Of  course  it  may  be  urged  that  the  majority  of 
books  for  beginners  are  based  essentially  on  the 
choppy  paragraph  with  the  constant  repetition  of 
words  and  phrases ;  therefore  the  accumulated  judg- 
ment of  experience  and  study  must  regard  this  mode 
a  necessity.  It  may  be  pertinent  to  inquire  whether 
this  attitude  of  mind  may  not  be  due  rather  to  tradi- 
tion and  lack  of  scientific  thought  than  to  any  deep 
psychological  insight  and  judgment. 

(It  may  not  be  wholly  impertinent  to  suggest  that 
the  teacher  who  has  never  tried  anything  else  isn't 
qualified  to  answer  the  inquiry.) 

Of  one  thing  we  may  be  assured,  the  great  pub- 
lishing houses  are  spending  thousands  of  dollars 
every  year  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  teacher  and 
her  work,  and  when  we  believe  ourselves  capable  of 
something  larger  and  better  in  our  reading  work, 
something  that  will  have  a  double  value,  value  in 
the  reading  and  value  in  reading  something  in  and 
of  itself  worth  while,  these  publishing  houses  will 
meet  our  needs  as  cheerfully  as  they  now  do.  Let 
us  have  faith  to  believe  that  the  time  has  come  when 
we  should  more  and  more  base  our  reading  on  the 
study  of  wholes  of  at  least  some  artistic  and  literary 
merit. 


CHAPTER  V 
TYPE  STORIES 

IN  story-telling,  the  form  and  vocabulary  em- 
ployed by  the  teacher  may  and  should  be  much  more 
complex,  extensive  and  diversified  than  either  may 
be  in  stories  presented  for  study  and  which  children 
will  be  required  to  read.  Whether  children  are  to 
read  the  story  or  are  to  be  entertained  and  incident- 
ally instructed  by  it,  they  should  be  taught  to  think 
the  story  through  and  conditions  should  be  made 
whereby  they  will  project  the  thought  by  anticipa- 
tion. If  wrong  inferences  are  drawn  children  will 
have  an  added  incentive  for  attending  more  closely 
and  with  less  fatigue  than  would  be  the  case  other- 
wise. 

To  illustrate  the  movement  through  form  and  the 
manner  of  projecting  the  thought  forward  the  fol- 
lowing stories  are  chosen.  Another  motive  in  select- 
ing the  first  story  is  to  suggest  that  Eussia  has  con- 
tributed something  to  the  world's  thought  besides 
cruelty  and  oppression  and  anarchy  and  red  ruin 
and  the  breaking  up  of  laws. 

A  RUSSIAN  LEGEND 
(Problem  Story) 

Once  in  the  long,  long  ago,  there  lived  in  Russia  a  very  selfish 
old  woman.  She  starved  and  beat  her  children,  quarreled  with 


72  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

her  neighbors,  and  made  herself  generally  disagreeable  tc  every 
one  who  knew  her.  Finally  when  the  death  angel  summoned  her 
to  the  shadow-land,  there  was  not  even  one  to  mourn  for  her. 

When  she  appeared  before  the  judgment  seat,  and  the  record  of 
her  selfish  and  worthless  life  was  read,  she  was  condemned  to  a 
life  of  reparation  through  struggle  in  the  bottomless  pit. 

One  day  as  she  lay  in  agony  of  spirit  in  the  lower  depths  of  the 
pit  of  hopelessness,  she  cast  her  eyes  upward  and  saw  an  angel 
soaring  and  singing  about  the  throne  of  God.  She  beckoned  the 
angel  to  her  and  said :  "  Go  back  to  your  Master  and  ask  him 
what  I  ever  did  on  earth  to  merit  such  punishment  as  this  ?  " 

The  angel  wheeled  and  circled  far  above  her  until  he  stood  by 
the  throne  of  the  Most  High.  The  angel  approached  the  Master 
and  delivered  the  old  woman's  message.  The  Master  looked  grave 
but  kindly  said : 

(What?     Why  do  you  think  so?) 

"  Return  to  the  old  woman  and  ask  her  whether  once  in  all  her 
life  she  ever  did  an  unselfish  act." 

On  the  wings  of  the  lightning  the  angel  hurried  to  the  old 
woman  with  the  message.  The  old  woman  thought  and  thought 
and  thought  for  a  long  time  and  then  she  replied :  "  Yes !  One 
winter  there  was  a  terrible  famine  in  Russia,  and  men,  women,  and 
children  were  starving  by  the  thousands.  I  had  nothing  to  pro- 
long my  life  but  a  single  carrot.  As  I  wandered  along  the  high- 
way wondering  what  I  should  do  when  it  was  gone,  I  met  a  woman 
who  carried  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Both  were  sick  and  starving — " 

(What  did  the  old  woman  do?) 

"  I  broke  the  carrot  in  two  and  shared  it  with  the  sick  woman 
and  her  starving  baby." 

Surely  this  was  an  act  of  unselfishness. 

The  angel  with  a  gladsome  smile  soared  aloft  until  he  reached 
the  Master  and  related  the  incident.  The  Master  with  a  compas- 
sionate look  said: 

(What?     Why?) 

"Here  is  the  carrot!  If  unselfishness  still  lives  in  her  heart 
it  will  redeem  her  life." 

The  angel  took  the  carrot  and  hastened  to  the  old  woman. 


TYPE   STORIES  73 

He  requested  her  to  take  one  end  while  he  held  the  other.  To- 
gether they  soared  upward  toward  the  light  and  life  above  the  pit. 

As  they  were  going  upward  the  person  next  to  the  old  woman 
caught  her  by  the  heel,  the  second  caught  the  first  by  the  heel,  the 
third  caught  the  second  by  the  heel,  and  so  on  until  all  of  the 
people  in  the  pit  formed  one  long  human  chain  drawn  upward  by 
the  one  unselfish  act. 

The  carrot  held  and  hauled  them  all! 

Just  as  they  neared  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  the  old  woman 
thought : 

(What?     Why?     What  did  she  do?) 

"  If  the  carrot  should  break  I  would  fall  back  with  all  of  the 
others.  The  carrot  was  only  intended  to  haul  me  out,  not  to  haul 
all  of  these  also !  "  With  this  thought  she  gave  her  heel  a  sudden 
jerk  and  succeeded  in  shaking  off  all  who  were  hanging  by  it. 
Down,  down  they  dropped  into  the  hopeless  darkness.  Just  then 
the  carrot  snapped  and  down,  down,  down  dropped  the  old  woman 
after  them! 

The  angel  with  sad  face  and  sorrowful  tone  said: 

(What?     Why?    How  did  the  angel  feel?) 

"If  one  unselfish  deed  has  power  to  empty  the  pit  of  dark 
despair,  selfishness  has  power  to  fill  it  again." 

Then  he  vanished. 

And  as  for  the  old  woman,  if  she  hasn't  outgrown  her  selfish- 
ness, she  is  there  to  this  very  day. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY 

(Good  Overcoming  Evil) 

In  the  far-off,  golden  days  a  little  daughter  was  born  unto  a 
king  and  queen.  She  was  so  beautiful  that  the  king  and  queen 
were  quite  beside  themselves  with  joy.  They  set  apart  a  day 
for  feasting  and  rejoicing  throughout  their  kingdom,  and  planned 
a  brilliant  reception  at  the  royal  palace.  They  invited  their  royal 
relatives,  the  noblemen  and  ladies  and  the  wise  women  of  the 
kingdom.  They  sought  to  please  every  one  so  that  all  would  be 
kindly  disposed  toward  their  beautiful  little  daughter. 


74  LITERATURE  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

Now  there  were  thirteen  wise  women  in  their  kingdom,  but  they 
knew  of  but  twelve,  so  twelve  invitations  were  sent  out  and  twelve 
golden  plates  were  provided  for  them  at  the  royal  banquet  table. 
The  feast  was  celebrated  with  mirth  and  song  and  laughter,  and 
as  it  drew  to  a  close  the  twelve  favored  guests  stood  forth  to 
bestow  their  wondrous  gifts  upon  the  child.  The  first  gave  virtue ; 
the  second,  beauty;  the  third,  riches;  the  fourth,  charm  and  grace 
of  manners;  the  fifth,  a  kind  and  sympathetic  nature;  and  so  on 
until  eleven  of  the  wise  women  had  bestowed  their  gifts.  Sud- 
denly in  burst  the  uninvited  thirteenth  full  of  rage  and  hatred 
and  burning  with  her  revengeful  desires.  Ignoring  all  the  assem- 
bled guests,  she  cried  in  a  loud,  harsh  voice: 

"  In  the  fifteenth  year  of  her  life  she  shall  prick  her  finger  with 
a  spindle  and  shall  fall  down  dead."  And  so  saying,  she  turned 
and  left  the  hall  as  abruptly  as  she  had  entered  it. 

Every  one  was  bewildered  and  terrified  at  the  prophecy,  and 
the  good  king  and  queen  were  prostrated  with  grief.  The  twelfth 
wise  woman  stepped  forward,  and  in  a  kindly  voice  said :  "  Be 
of  good  cheer.  While  I  cannot  wholly  overcome  the  wicked 
prophecy  yet  I  can  soften  it.  The  princess  shall  not  die,  but  shall 
fall  into  a  deep  sleep  which  will  last  for  one  hundred  years." 

The  king  greatly  desired  to  offset  even  this  lesser  evil,  so  he 
commanded  that  every  spindle  in  his  kingdom  should  be  destroyed. 
The  command  was  carried  far  and  wide,  and  all  who  heard  readily 
complied  with  the  request. 

The  princess  grew  up  adorned  with  all  the  gifts  which  loving 
wisdom  had  bestowed.  She  was  so  sweet  and  lovely,  so  mod- 
est and  clever,  so  kind  and  good  that  all  who  knew  her  loved 
her. 

One  day  when  the  maiden  was  fifteen  years  of  age,  the  king 
and  queen  rode  off  in  the  royal  coach  leaving  the  princess  to  roam 
at  will  about  the  castle. 

She  wandered  about  from  room  to  room  as  fancy  led  her,  and 
finally  climbed  the  narrow,  winding  stair  which  led  to  an  old 
forsaken  tower.  Soon  she  came  to  a  little  door  with  a  rusty  key 
sticking  in  the  lock.  She  turned  the  key,  the  door  opened  and 
there  sat  a  little  old  woman  diligently  spinning  flax.  The  prin- 


TYPE   STORIES  75 

cess  curtsied  to  the  old  woman,  and  then  eagerly  asked :  "  What 
are  you  doing?"  "I  am  spinning,"  answered  the  old  woman 
nodding  her  head. 

"What  is  this  thing  that  spins  round  so  briskly?"  asked  the 
maiden.  Taking  the  spindle  in  her  hand  she  began  to  spin.  As 
she  touched  it  she  pricked  her  finger,  and  that  very  moment  fell 
back  upon  a  bed  and  lay  in  a  deep  sleep.  The  evil  prophecy  had 
been  fulfilled. 

The  sleep  fell  upon  the  whole  castle.  The  king  and  queen  who 
had  returned  fell  asleep  in  the  great  hall.  Everywhere  throughout 
the  castle  nobles  and  servants  fell  asleep  where  they  sat  or  stood. 
Horses  fell  asleep  in  their  stalls,  dogs  in  the  yard,  birds  in  the 
trees,  and  even  the  flies  on  the  wall.  The  fire  flickered  on  the 
hearth  for  a  moment,  then  slept  like  the  rest.  Even  the  cook  fell 
asleep  in  the  midst  of  meats  and  cakes  and  pastries.  The  wind, 
too,  sank  to  rest,  and  not  a  flower  or  leaf  stirred  about  the  royal 
castle. 

A  great  hedge  sprang  up  about  the  castle  which  grew  higher 
and  denser  every  year  until  finally  nothing  could  be  seen  except 
the  top  of  the  roof.  The  rumor  of  the  sleep  of  the  charming 
princess  was  bruited  about  the  whole  country,  and  many  royal 
princes  tried  in  vain  to  force  their  way  through  the  dense  hedges. 
The  thorns  seized  them  and  held  them  like  teeth  of  steel,  and 
many  a  one  perished,  vainly  struggling  to  free  himself. 

Long  years  afterwards  another  royal  prince  visited  that  coun- 
try. From  the  faltering  lips  of  an  aged  man  he  heard  the  mar- 
velous story  of  the  sleeping  princess  and  of  the  castle  behind  the 
hedge.  The  old  man  also  told  him  that  many  a  prince  had  lost 
his  life  in  attempting  to  pass  through  the  hedge. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  young  prince,  "  I  shall  pass  through 
the  hedge,  and  shall  behold  the  beautiful  princess."  Nor  would 
he  hearken  further  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  good  old  man. 

The  hundred  years  were  now  ended,  and  the  time  for  the  prin- 
cess to  awaken  was  at  hand.  So  when  the  prince  drew  near  the 
hedge  it  suddenly  changed  into  a  bed  of  beautiful  flowers  which 
bent  aside  to  let  him  pass  and  then  closing  behind  him  was  again 
a  thick  hedge. 


76  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

As  he  passed  through  the  royal  castle  he  beheld  king  and  queen, 
noble  and  servant  just  as  they  had  fallen  asleep  one  hundred 
years  before.  Everything  was  so  still  and  quiet  that  his  own 
breathing  startled  him.  At  last  he  came  to  the  tower  where  lay 
the  beautiful  young  princess.  She  looked  so  lovely  and  charming 
that  he  stooped  and  gently  kissed  her  cheek.  Whereupon  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  kindly  upon  him. 

The  princess  arose  and  the  prince  took  her  hand,  and  together 
they  passed  to  the  court  below.  Then  the  king  and  queen  and  all 
the  court  awoke  and  gazed  with  wonder  and  amazement  upon  each 
other.  The  horses  shook  themselves,  and  then  went  prancing  and 
neighing  about  the  yard.  The  dogs  barked,  the  fowls  cackled,  and 
the  birds  sang.  The  fire  blazed  up  on  the  royal  hearth,  and  the 
cooks  commenced  to  prepare  a  royal  feast. 

Then  the  wedding  of  the  prince  and  the  princess  was  celebrated 
with  royal  splendor  and  again  all  was  joy  and  mirth  and  happi- 
ness throughout  the  kingdom. — Adapted  from  Grimm. 

Stories  to  be  Read  by  Children: 

As  already  suggested,  stories  which  are  to  be  read 
by  children  should  be  simple  in  form  and  more  lim- 
ited in  vocabulary  than  are  the  stories  which  are  to 
be  told  to  the  children.  The  aim  in  teaching  this 
type  of  story  is  to  familiarize  the  mind  with  the  con- 
tent of  idea  and  through  this  known  content  to  lead 
to  a  mastery  of  the  form  which  embodies  it. 

The  teacher  should  speak  through  crayon  as  well 
as  through  vocal  cords.  The  doers  (the  nouns), 
and  the  doing  (the  verbs),  should  be  selected  with 
care.  Through  these  the  ideas  may  be  conveyed,  the 
story  constructed. 

Here,  too,  the  mind  should  be  encouraged  to  pro- 
ject itself,  to  anticipate  the  outcome.  Herein  is  the 


TYPE   STORIES  77 

teacher 's  opportunity  to  commence  the  systematic 
development  of  logical  thinking  on  the  part  of  the 
children. 

THE  BREMEN-TOWN  MUSICIANS 

There  was  once  a  poor  old  donkey  that  felt  very  sad  and 
lonely. 

(Why?) 

He  had  carried  sacks — 

(Where?) 

to  the  mill  for  his  master  for  many  a  long  year.  Up  hill  and 
down  he  had  carried  his  heavy  sacks — 

(How?) 

without  complaining.  But  at  last  he  grew  old  and  feeble.  His 
legs  became  stiff,  his  teeth  dull,  his  eyes  dim.  Then  he  could  not 
work  to  please  his  master.  His  master  said: 

(What?) 

"  I  can  ill  afford  to  feed  a  worthless  old  donkey.  I  will  turn 
him  out  to  die." 

The  donkey  said: 
,  (What?) 

"  I  have  worked  faithfully  all  these  years.  Now  my  master  does 
not  even  thank  me.  I  must  go  out  into  the  world  to  seek  my 
fortune."  And  this  is  why  he  felt  so  sad  and  lonely. 

He  started  slowly  down  the  highway  that  led  out  into  the  great, 
wide  world.  When  he  had  gone  a  little  way  he  saw  a  dog  lying 
by  the  roadside.  The  dog  was  crying  piteously  and  seemed  to 
be  in  great  trouble. 

"  How  now,  friend  dog,"  asked  the  donkey,  "  what  has  gone 
wrong  with  you?" 

The  dog  replied,  "  I  served  my  master  faithfully  for  ten  long 
years.  I  followed  him  in  the  hunt  by  day.  I  watched  his  flocks 
at  night.  Now  I  am  old.  I  get  weaker  every  day.  I  cannot  hunt 
by  day.  I  cannot  watch  by  night.  My  master  says : 

(What?) 


78  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"  I  must  be  put  to  death." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what,"  said  the  donkey,  "  come  with  me.  We 
will  go — 

(Where?) 
out  into  the  world  together  to  seek  our  fortunes." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  dog.     So  they  walked  on  together. 

Soon  they  came  to  a  cat  sitting  by  the  road.  She  looked  very 
sad.  "What  is  the  matter  with  you,  friend  cat?"  asked  the 
donkey. 

The  cat  replied,  "  I  have  worked  for  my  old  mistress  for  five 
years.  I  have  kept  the  rats  out  of  the  basement  and  the  mice 
out  of  the  kitchen.  Sometimes  I  worked  by  day;  sometimes  by 
night.  But  I  never  complained.  Now  I  am  old.  My  joints  are 
stiff.  My  teeth  are  dull.  I  can  only  sit  by  the  fire  and  purr.  My 
mistress  says, — (What?) — I  must  be  drowned." 

"  That  is  too  bad,"  said  the  donkey.  "  Come  out  into  the  world 
with  us.  We  are  seeking  our  fortunes." 

The  cat  said,— (What?  Did  what?)— "  That's  a  good  idea." 
So  she  went  along  with  them. 

As  they  were  passing  a  farmyard,  they  saw  a  rooster  perched 
upon  the  gate-post.  He  was  crowing  with  all  his  might. 

"  Your  cries  are  enough  to  pierce  bone  and  marrow.  What  is 
the  matter?"  asked  the  donkey. 

"  I  have  foretold  fair  weather  so  the  clothes  could  be  washed 
and  dried.  On  Sunday  morning  company  is  coming.  The  mis- 
tress told  the  cook  to  make  me  into  soup.  My  neck  is  to  be  wrung 
this  evening.  So  I  am  crowing  while  I  can." 

"  Come  with  us,  Chanticleer,"  said  the  donkey.  "  That  will  be 
— (What?) — better  than  dying.  You  have  a  powerful  voice. 
When  we  all  sing  together  the  music  will  be  great." 

The  rooster  consented  and  they  all — (Did  what?) — started  up 
the  road  together. 

Toward  evening  they  came  to  a  big  wood.  Here  they  stopped 
for  the  night.  The  dog  and  the  donkey — (Did  what?) — lay  under 
a  huge  tree.  The  cat — (Did  what?) — climbed  up  among  the 
branches.  The  rooster — (Did  what?) — flew  to  the  very  top  of 
the  tree.  He  saw  a  light  away  off  in  the  distance.  He  called  to 


TYPE   STORIES  79 

his  companions.  He  said, — (What?) — "There  must  be  a  house 
where  I  see  the  light." 

The  donkey  said,— (What?)—"  Let  us  go  there.  These  beds 
are  not  very  comfortable." 

The  dog  said,  "  A  few  bones  not  quite  bare  will  do  me  good." 
So  they  all  started  toward  the  light.  It  grew — (Howl) — larger 
and  brighter  until  it  led  them  to  a  robbers'  house.  The  donkey 
went  up  to  the  window  and  looked  in. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  see?  "  asked  the  dog. 

"I  see  a  table  set  with  splendid  food.  Robbers  are  sitting 
around  it  and  feasting." 

"  That  will  just  suit  us,"  said  the  rooster. 

"  I  wish  I  were  there,"  said  the  cat. 

Then  they  all  planned  to  get  the  robbers  out  of  the  house.  The 
donkey  placed  his  fore-legs  on  the  window-sill.  The  dog  got  on  the 
donkey's  back.  The  cat  got  on  the  dog's  back.  The  rooster  flew 
up  and  perched  on  the  cat's  head. 

Then  they  all  began  to  make  their  music.  The  donkey  brayed. 
The  dog  barked.  The  cat  howled.  The  rooster  crowed  with  all 
his  might.  Then  they  burst  into  the  room  breaking  the  panes  of 


The  robbers — (Did  what?) — fled  when  they  heard  the  dreadful 
sounds.  They  ran  to  the  woods  in  terror.  Then  the  four  com- 
panions sat  down  to  a  fine  feast. 

When  they  could  eat  no  more  they  put  out  the  light  and  each 
hunted  a  sleeping  place.  The  cat — (Did  what?) — curled  up  in 
the  warm  ashes  on  the  hearth.  The  dog — (Did  what?) — lay  be- 
hind the  door.  The  rooster  flew  up  on  the  roof.  The  donkey — 
(Did  what?) — lay  down  in  the  yard  outside.  They  were  all  tired, 
so — (What  happened  f) — they  soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

One  of  the  robbers  saw  that  no  light  was  burning.  Everything 
seemed  quiet.  He  said, — (Whatf) — "  We  have  run  away  without 
reason." 

The  captain  said,  "  Go  back  to  see  who  is  there." 

"All  right,"  said  the  bold  robber.    And  back  he  went. 

He  found  everything  still  and  quiet.  He  went  into  the  house 
to  strike  a  light.  He  saw  the  cat's  eyes  shining  on  the  hearth. 


80  LITEBATUEE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

He  thought  they  were — (What?) — coals  of  fire.  He  put  a  stick 
in  the  cat's  eye  to  kindle  it.  The  cat — (Did  what?) — flew  at  his 
face  spitting  and  scratching.  The  robber  was — (What?) — ter- 
ribly frightened.  He  yelled  in  terror  and  ran  for  the  door.  He 
stepped  on  the  dog.  The  dog  jumped  up  and — (Did  what?) — 
bit  him  on  the  leg.  The  rooster  heard  the  noise.  He — (Did 
what?) — cried  out  "Cock-a-doodle-do!  Cock-a-doodle-do!" 
Then  the  robber  ran  through  the  yard  and  the  donkey — (Did 
what?) — kicked  him  on  the  back. 

The  robber  ran  back  to  his  comrades.  He  was  white  with  fear. 
He  exclaimed,  "  0  captain !  There  is  a  terrible  old  witch  in  that 
house.  She  scratched  me  in  the  face  with  long  sharp  nails.  A 
giant  stood  behind  the  door.  He  stabbed  me  in  the  leg  with  a 
sharp  knife.  A  huge  monster  in  the  yard  beat  me  with  a  big 
club.  And  up  on  the  roof  Justice  sits.  He  kept  calling,  '  Throw 
the  villain  up  here !  Throw  the  villain  up  here ! ' ' 

When  the  robbers  heard  this  they  were — (How?) — too  fright- 
ened to  go  there  any  more.  They — (Did  what?) — went  far  into 
the  woods  to  build  another  home. 

So  the  four  companions  found  their  fortune  and  a  home. — 
Adapted  from  Grimm. 

Development  of  the  Story: 

(a)  Tell  me  about  the  donkey. 

(b)  Why  did  he  feel  so  sad  and  lonely? 

(c)  What  did  he  decide  to  do? 

(d)  Where  did  he  go  and  what  did  he  see? 

(e)  What  did  the  dog  say? 

(f)  What  did  the  dog  and  the  donkey  do? 

(g)  WTiere  did  they  see  the  cat?    What  was  she  doing? 
What  did  the  donkey  say  to  the  cat?     What  did  she 
say? 

(h)  What  was  the  rooster  doing  ?  What  did  the  donkey 
say  to  the  rooster  ? 

(i)  What  did  the  rooster  tell  them? 


TYPE   STORIES  81 

(j)  What  do  you  think  of  such  masters  and  mistresses? 
Why? 

(k)  Are  such  animals  really  worth  keeping  when  they 
have  outgrown  their  usefulness? 

(1)  Are  they  not  expensive? 

(m)  Where  did  the  four  friends  stop  for  the  night  ? 

(n)  What  did  the  rooster  see  from  his  perch?  When 
they  followed  this  light  what  did  they  find  ?  How  did  they 
get  the  robbers  out  ?  What  did  they  do  next  ? 

(o)  What  happened  to  the  robber  who  returned  to  in- 
vestigate ? 

(p)  What  effect  did  that  have  upon  the  fortunes  of  our 
four  friends? 

A  LITTLE  RED  HEN 

A  little  red  hen  lived  alone  near  a  big  wood.  She  had  a  wee 
little  house,  but  it  was  large  enough  for  her.  She  gathered  seeds 
and  berries  for  her  food.  She  picked  up  sticks  for  her  fire.  She 
was  quiet  and  gentle.  She  never  harmed  anyone  in  her  life.  She 
was  a  happy  little  hen. 

A  crafty  old  fox  lived  near  her.  His  home  was  a  den  in  the 
rocks.  He  was  very  fond  of  chickens  for  his  dinner.  He  lay 
awake  one  night  planning  how  to  get  the  little  red  hen.  He 
wanted  her  for  his  dinner  the  next  day.  He  prowled  around  all 
day  trying  to  carry  out  his  plans. 

The  little  red  hen  was  too  careful  for  the  old  fox  to  get  her. 
She  always  looked  about  cautiously  before  leaving  her  little  house. 
She  always  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  in  her  pocket  when 
she  went  in. 

The  old  fox  did  not  get  her  that  time. 

The  old  fox  watched  and  prowled  and  lay  awake  nights  until 
he  was  just  skin  and  bone.  He  longed  to  catch  the  little  red  hen 
and  boil  her,  but  he  could  not. 

At  last  a  clever  plan  came  into  his  wicked  old  head.  He  took 
a  big  bag  and  threw  it  over  his  shoulder.  He  called  his  mother 


82  LITEBATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL, 

and  said :  "  Mother,  have  the  big  pot  boiling  when  I  come  home. 
We  shall  have  the  little  red  hen  for  our  dinner  to-night." 

Away  he  went  over  the  hills  and  through  the  woods.  He  crept 
slyly  and  softly  to  the  house  of  the  little  red  hen.  At  that  very 
minute  out  stepped  the  little  red  hen.  She  began  to  pick  up 
sticks  for  her  fire. 

"  Now  I  have  you,"  the  old  fox  said  to  himself.  He  quickly 
stepped  into  the  house  and  hid  behind  the  door. 

In  a  little  while  in  came  the  little  red  hen  with  her  apron  full 
of  sticks.  She  shut  the  door,  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in  her 
pocket.  Then  she  turned  around  and  saw  the  sly  old  fox  in  the 
corner.  She  dropped  her  sticks  in  great  fright.  Before  the  old 
fox  could  pounce  upon  her  she  flew  up  and  perched  on  a  beam 
above  the  door.  The  old  fox  could  not  get  at  her. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  the  fox,  "I  shall  soon  get  you  down."  He 
began  to  whirl  round  and  round  faster  and  faster  after  his  bushy 
tail.  The  little  red  hen  became  so  dizzy  looking  at  him  that  she 
fell  off  the  beam.  The  fox  snapped  her  up,  popped  her  into  the 
bag,  and  started  home  in  a  minute. 

The  fox  went  up  hill  and  down  hill  with  the  little  red  hen 
smothering  in  the  bag.  At  first  she  didn't  know  where  she  was. 
She  thought  that  she  had  surely  been  boiled  and  eaten. 

By  and  by  she  remembered  the  fox  and  discovered  where  she 
was.  She  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket  and  took  out  her  little 
bright  pair  of  scissors.  She  cut  a  long  slit  in  the  bag.  Then  she 
reached  out  and  picked  up  a  stone.  She  put  the  stone  inside  and 
stepped  out.  Then  she  flew  home  and  locked  her  little  door. 

Meanwhile  the  fox  toiled  up  the  steep  hill.  The  stone  thumped 
at  his  back.  He  thought :  "  How  heavy  the  little  red  hen  is !  We 
shall  have  a  fine  dinner  at  her  expense ! " 

Soon  he  came  in  sight  of  the  den  among  the  rocks.  He  spied 
his  old  mother  watching  for  him  at  the  door.  He  said :  "  Mother, 
have  you  the  pot  boiling?" 

His  mother  said:  "Yes!    Have  you  the  little  red  hen?" 

"  Yes ! "  said  the  fox,  "  here  in  my  bag.  Take  the  lid  off  the 
pot  and  I  will  put  her  in." 

The  old  mother  fox  lifted  the  lid  off  the  pot.     The  sly  rascal 


TYPE   STOBIBS  83 

untied  the  bag  and  shook  the  big  heavy  stone  into  the  pot  of  boil- 
ing water.  The  water  splashed  up  all  over  the  wily  fox  and  his 
mother  and  scalded  both  to  death. 

The  little  red  hen  lived  quietly  as  before.  She  did  her  work, 
interfered  with  nobody,  and  so  was  happy  and  contented. 

If  she  hasn't  died  she  lives  there  still. — Adapted  from  Mrs. 
Whitney's  "  Stories." 

Development  of  the  Story: 

(a)  Where  and  how  did  the  little  red  hen  live? 

(b)  "Who  lived  near  her?    What  kind  of  neighbor  was 
he?    Why? 

(c)  What  did  the  old  fox  plan  to  do? 

(d)  How  did  the  little  hen  upset  his  plans? 

(e)  What  did  he  plan  to  do  then?    What  did  he  tell  his 
mother  ? 

(f)  What  did  the  little  red  hen  do  when  she  found  the 
sly,  old  fox  in  her  house? 

(g)  How  did  the  fox  get  her  down? 
(h)  How  did  the  little  hen  escape? 

(i)  What  kept  the  sly,  old  fox  from  knowing  that  she  had 
escaped  ? 

(j)  What  happened  when  the  sly,  old  fox  got  home? 

A  ROBIN  HOOD  STORY 
ROBIN  HOOD  AND  LITTLE  JOHN 

(Motor  and  dramatic  type — Physical  courage) 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  long  ago.  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry 
men  roamed  through  Sherwood  Forest.  They  dressed  in  Lincoln 
green.  Robin  carried  a  little  silver  horn.  He  blew  upon  it  to 
call  his  men  when  any  of  them  were  in  danger. 

The  fame  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  men  was  soon  known  all  over 
the  land.  Their  deeds  made  the  sheriff  very  angry.  He  tried 
many  times,  but  always  failed  to  catch  them. 


84  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL, 

At  the  first  poor  people  were  very  much  afraid  of  Robin  Hood 
and  his  merry  men.  When  they  heard  his  bugle-call,  they  trem' 
bled  with  fear.  They  soon  learned  that  Robin  Hood  meant  no 
harm  to  them. 

Robin  Hood  said,  "  I  plunder  no  poor  man.  I  do  not  oppress 
the  widow  and  orphan.  I  relieve  the  poor." 

The  poor  soon  learned  to  love  and  trust  him. 

Robin  Hood  rose  early  one  fine  morning.  He  threw  his  quiver 
over  his  shoulder.  "  This  fresh  breeze  stirs  my  blood,"  said  he. 
"  My  lads,  I  shall  see  what  the  gay  world  looks  like  toward  Not- 
tingham town.  Stay  you  behind  in  the  borders  of  the  forest. 
Keep  within  earshot  of  my  bugle-call." 

Then  he  strode  merrily  to  the  edge  of  the  wood.  He  paused 
there  a  moment.  He  stood  erect  and  manly.  His  eyes  watched 
the  road.  The  wind  blew  his  beautiful  brown  locks  about.  It 
blew  a  ruddy  color  into  his  cheeks.  He  was  indeed  a  fine  sight  as 
he  stood  there. 

The  road  led  to  the  town.  He  started  boldly  for  it.  Soon  he 
came  to  a  by-path  that  led  across  a  brook.  This  way  was  nearer 
and  less  open.  He  turned  down  this  by-path. 

He  soon  came  to  the  stream.  It  was  swollen  by  recent  rain. 
It  seemed  a  raging  torrent.  The  long  foot-bridge  was  still  there. 
At  one  end  was  a  big  puddle  of  water.  This  he  must  leap  or  get 
his  feet  wet. 

Robin  Hood  did  not  mind  a  little  thing  like  that.  He  made  a 
running  start.  Then  his  nimble  legs  carried  him  over  easily.  He 
landed  safely  on  the  other  side  and  started  across  the  narrow  foot- 
bridge. As  he  did  so  he  saw  a  tall  stranger  coming  from  the 
other  side.  Robin  quickened  his  pace.  The  stranger  did  so,  too. 
Each  wished  to  get  across  first.  Midway  they  met.  Neither 
would  budge  an  inch. 

"  Give  way,  fellow !  "  roared  Robin. 

The  stranger  smiled.    He  was  a  head  taller  than  Robin. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  fair  and  softly !  I  only  give  way  to  a  better 
man  than  myself." 

"  Give  way,  I  say,"  repeated  Robin,  "  or  I  shall  have  to  show 
you  a  better  man." 


TYPE   STORIES  85 

The  stranger  laughed  loudly,  but  budged  not  an  inch.  "  Now, 
by  my  halidom,  I  would  not  move  after  that  speech,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly.  "  I  have  sought  for  this  better  man  all  my  life.  Show 
him  to  me  if  it  pleases  you." 

"  That  I  will  right  soon,"  said  Robin.  "  Stay  you  here  a  little 
while.  I  shall  cut  me  a  cudgel  like  the  one  you  are  twirling  in 
your  fingers." 

Robin  laid  aside  his  long  bow  and  arrows.  Then  he  returned 
to  his  own  bank.  He  cut  a  stout  cudgel  of  oak.  It  was  six  feet 
long,  straight  and  knotless.  But  it  was  a  foot  shorter  than  the 
stranger's  cudgel. 

Robin  took  his  cudgel  and  went  back  boldly.  He  said,  "  I  mind 
not  telling  you  that  a  bout  with  archery  would  have  been  an  easier 
way  with  me.  But  there  are  other  tunes  in  England  than  that 
the  arrow  sings."  So  saying,  Robin  whirled  the  staff  above  his 
head.  "  Make  ready  for  the  tune  I  am  about  to  play  upon  your 
ribs.  Have  at  you!  One,  two — " 

"  Three !  "  roared  the  stranger,  smiting  at  him  instantly. 

Well  was  it  for  Robin  that  he  was  quick  and  nimble  of  foot. 
The  blow  that  grazed  his  shoulder  would  have  felled  an  ox. 
Robin  dodged  the  blow  and  came  back  with  a  whack! 

Whack !  parried  the  other. 

Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Whack! 

The  fight  was  fast  and  furious. 

The  match  was  a  merry  one. 

The  stranger  was  strong.  His  mighty  blows  whistled  about 
Robin's  head. 

Robin  was  nimble.  He  dodged  the  blows  and  gave  the  stranger 
some  mighty  whacks  in  the  ribs. 

They  stood  in  their  places  fighting  for  a  good  half  hour. 
Neither  would  cry  "  Enough !  "  Every  blow  seemed  like  to  knock 
one  or  the  other  off  the  narrow  bridge. 

The  stranger's  face  was  getting  red.  His  breath  came  short 
and  fast.  He  stepped  forward  to  finish  Robin  with  a  blow. 

Robin  dodged  and  again  struck  the  stranger  on  the  short  ribs. 
It  sounded  like  a  tanner  tanning  a  hide  for  market.  The  stranger 
staggered  and  almost  fell.  He  regained  his  footing  quickly. 


86  LITERATURE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

"  By  my  life  you  can  hit  hard ! "  he  gasped.  Then  he  gave  a 
blow  while  he  was  yet  staggering. 

This  blow  was  a  lucky  one.  It  caught  Robin  off  guard.  He 
had  lowered  his  stick  for  a  moment.  He  had  expected  to  see  the 
stranger  topple  over  into  the  water,  when  down  came  the  stran- 
ger's stick  upon  his  head  with  a  mighty  whack !  It  made  Robin 
see  stars.  He  dropped  off  the  bridge  into  the  water. 

The  cold  water  brought  him  to  his  senses.  He  groped  blindly 
among  the  reeds.  He  tried  to  pull  himself  upon  the  bank. 

The  stranger  laughed  heartily  at  Robin.  Then  he  rushed  to 
his  aid.  He  thrust  his  long  cudgel  into  the  water.  He  said, 
"  Lay  hold  of  that  if  your  fist  whirl  not  as  much  as  your 
head." 

Robin  laid  hold  and  was  hauled  to  dry  land.  He  came  out  like 
a  fish.  Only  a  fish  would  not  have  come  out  so  wet  and  dripping. 
He  lay  panting  on  the  warm  bank.  Then  he  sat  up  and  rubbed 
his  head. 

"  You  hit  full  stoutly,"  said  he.  "  My  head  hums  like  a  hive 
of  bees  on  a  summer  morning." 

Then  he  seized  his  horn,  which  lay  near  him.  He  blew  three 
shrill  notes,  which  echoed  against  the  trees.  A  moment  of  silence 
followed. 

Then  was  heard  the  rustling  of  leaves  and  the  crackling  of 
twigs.  It  sounded  like  the  coming  of  many  men.  Then  from  the 
glade  burst  twenty  men  or  more.  They  were  all  large  and  strong. 
They  were  dressed  in  Lincoln  green.  Will  Stutely  and  the  widow's 
three  sons  were  at  their  head. 

"  Good  Master!  "  cried  Will  Stutely,  "  how  is  this?  There  is 
not  a  dry  thread  on  your  body ! " 

"  Why,"  replied  Robin,  "  this  fellow  would  not  let  me  pass  the 
foot-bridge.  I  tickled  him  on  the  ribs.  He  answered  by  knock- 
ing me  on  the  head.  I  fell  overboard  suddenly." 

"Then  shall  he  taste  some  of  his  own  porridge,"  said  Will. 
"  Seize  him,  lads !  " 

"  Nay,  let  him  go  free,"  said  Robin.  "  The  fight  was  a  fair  one. 
I  abide  by  it.  I  presume  you  are  also  quits?  "  said  Robin,  as  he 
turned  to  the  stranger  with  a  twinkling  eye. 


TYPE  STOBIES  87 

"  I  am  content.  You  now  have  the  best  end  of  the  cudgel. 
But  I  like  you  well  and  would  know  your  name." 

"  Why,"  said  Robin,  "  my  men  and  even  the  sheriff  know  me 
as  Robin  Hood,  the  outlaw." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  beat  you,"  exclaimed  the  stranger.  "  I  was 
on  my  way  to  join  you  and  your  merry  men.  Now  I  fear  we  are 
still  strangers." 

"  Never  say  it !  "  cried  Robin.  "  I  am  glad  I  fell  in  with  you, 
—though  I  did  all  of  the  falling." 

All  the  men  laughed  as  Robin  and  the  stranger  clasped  hands. 
And  so  the  strong  friendship  of  a  lifetime  was  begun. 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  your  name,"  cried  Robin. 

"  Where  I  come  from  men  call  me  John  Little." 

"  Enter  our  company,  then,  John  Little.  Enter  and  welcome. 
The  rites  are  few.  The  fee  is  large.  We  ask  your  whole  body 
and  mind  and  heart  even  unto  death." 

"  I  give  my  service  even  unto  death,"  said  John  Little. 

Thereupon  Will  Stutely,  who  loved  a  good  joke,  said :  "  The 
baby  of  our  family  must  be  christened.  I'll  be  his  godfather. 
This  fair  little  stranger  is  too  small  of  bone  and  muscle 
for  his  old  name."  Here  he  paused  to  fill  a  horn  in  the 
stream. 

Then  he  stood  on  tiptoe  to  splash  the  water  on  the  giant. 
"  Hear  you,  my  son,  take  your  new  name  on  entering  the  forest. 
I  christen  you  Little  John." 

At  this  jest  the  men  laughed  loud  and  long. 

"  Give  him  a  bow  and  find  him  a  full  quiver  of  arrows,"  said 
Robin,  merrily.  "  Can  you  shoot  as  well  as  you  can  fence  with 
the  cudgel?" 

"  I  have  hit  an  ash  twig  at  forty  yards,"  said  Little  John. 

Thus  chatting  pleasantly,  the  band  of  men  turned  into  the  for- 
est. They  followed  a  path  that  led  where  trees  were  thickest  and 
moss  softest.  This  path  led  to  a  secret  cave.  This  was  the  hid- 
ing place  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men. 

Here  they  found  the  rest  of  the  band.  Some  had  come  in  with 
two  fat  deer.  They  built  a  ruddy  fire  and  sat  down  to  eat  and 
drink, 


88  LITEEATUBB  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Robin  sat  in  the  center.  Will  Stutely  was  on  one  side  of  him. 
Little  John  was  on  the  other. 

Robin  said,  "  I  am  well  pleased  with  the  day's  adventure.  Sore 
ribs  and  heads  will  heal.  It  is  not  every  day  I  find  a  man  as  stout 
of  body  and  true  of  soul  as  Little  John." — Adapted  from  "  Robin 
Hood  "  by  T.  Walker  McSpadden. 


IPatt 

CHAPTER  VI 
PSYCHOLOGY  AND  THE  READING  PROBLEM 

Two  controlling  ideas  dominate  the  work  of  the 
public  schools:  the  one,  the  development  of  the 
individual  in  the  educative  process;  and  the  other, 
the  mastering  of  the  subject  matter.  At  just  what 
point  these  two  ideas  coordinate  themselves  is  a 
mooted  question.  Certain  it  is  that  the  idea  of  in- 
formation as  the  sole  end  and  aim  cannot  be  justi- 
fied below  the  college  or  university.  It  seems 
equally  certain  that  development  as  the  sole  end  and 
aim  cannot  justify  itself  above  the  kindergarten  and 
primary  grades.  The  relationship  of  form  and  con- 
tent is  such  that  the  fulness  of  the  one  demands  the 
recognition  and  support  of  the  other. 

More  than  one  earnest  educator  who  has  noted  the 
alertness,  the  originality,  the  resourcefulness  of  the 
street  Arab,  and  who  has  noted  also  the  pitiful  lack 
of  resourcefulness,  of  initiative,  of  originality  and 
alertness  on  the  part  of  many  a  boy  with  every  ad- 
vantage of  school,  has  voiced  the  opinion  that  some- 
how the  school  does  not  give  the  necessary  experi- 
ences to  develop  the  desirable  traits  which  the  street 


90  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Arab  seems  to  possess,  that  it  does  not  articulate  in 
a  vital  way  with  social  and  economic  life.  If  one  re- 
flects upon  the  conditions  presented  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  schoolboy  and  also  for  the  development 
of  the  street  Arab,  he  will  note  that  the  conditions 
surrounding  the  schoolboy  are  determined,  selected, 
organized  and  systematized.  The  conditions  sur- 
rounding the  boy  of  the  street  are  unorganized  and 
unsystematized  and  are  without  selection  and  deter- 
mination. He  will  thus  note  that  conditions  exter- 
nal are  in  favor  of  the  boy  of  the  school.  The  differ- 
ence, then,  must  be  in  the  manner  and  intensity  of 
response  to  the  conditions  of  the  environment.  The 
street  Arab  responds  with  his  whole  self,  every 
phase  and  form  of  mind  are  alert,  active,  responsive. 
Perception,  memory,  judgment,  reason  and  will  are 
all  stimulated,  exercised,  developed.  Starting  from 
imitation  with  this  response,  he  changes,  fashions, 
originates;  he  takes  the  initiative;  he  forces  con- 
clusions. 

The  schoolboy,  all  too  often,  is  on  a  low  respon- 
sive plane.  His  whole  being  is  not  alert.  Verbal 
memory  dominates  his  mental  activities.  He  crams 
verbal  memory,  responds  from  verbal  memory,  is 
measured  and  graded  by  virtue  of  verbal  memory. 
His  whole  mind  is  not  actively  and  organically  at 
work.  In  each  recitation  his  imagination  is  not 
kindled,  his  memory  is  not  alert  classifying  and 
determining,  his  judgment  is  not  sure,  his  reason 
is  not  keen,  his  will  is  not  actively  choosing  and 
directing.  He  is  responsive  in  a  passive  sense 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM  91 

only.  Splendid  exceptions  there  are  to  this  unfor- 
tunate condition  which  merely  defines  the  boy  with 
whom  the  street  Arab  is  compared,  to  the  credit  of 
the  latter. 

It  is  the  aim  of  the  remainder  of  this  chapter  and 
of  subsequent  chapters  to  suggest  a  method  of  teach- 
ing literature  which  will  present  ideals  worthy  of 
imitation  and  which  will  rise  above  the  mere  plane 
of  word  perception  or  verbal  memory  and  which  will 
aspire  to  run  the  gamut  of  the  mind  from  sensation 
to  will.  This  method  will  be  suggested  and  exempli- 
fied through  concrete  illustrations. 

From  the  standpoint  of  subject  matter  in  any 
study,  the  child  should  be  approaching  a  conscious 
recognition  of  the  basic  principles  which  give  being 
to  the  subject,  and  he  should  also  be  approaching  the 
mastery  of  those  principles.  He  should  be  able  to 
recognize  the  application  of  those  principles  in  a  set 
mode  and  should  be  able  to  recognize  the  control  of 
the  conditions  by  the  principles.  Finally,  he  should 
become  master  of  the  principles  in  their  application 
to  daily  life.  From  the  standpoint  of  development, 
the  child  is  the  subject;  the  subject  matter  is  the 
means ;  the  end  is  to  give  the  child  self-control,  self- 
assurance  or  self-reliance,  and  self-direction.  Or 
stated  in  other  terms,  the  child  is  the  subject  to  be 
taught,  his  development  is  the  desired  end  and  aim; 
the  subject  matter  is  the  means  by  which  and 
through  which  the  development  is  to  be  effected; 
teaching  is  the  making  of  conditions  through  the 
presentation  of  subject  matter  whereby  the  mind, 


92  LITERATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

through  its  own  activity  and  according  to  its  own 
law,  may  unfold  rationally  and  economically.  The 
teaching  aim  is  to  start  with  the  child's  experiences; 
to  give  new  experiences ;  to  develop'  power  to  dis- 
cover causal  relations  and  to  move  with  accuracy 
and  precision  from  cause  to  effect ;  to  discover  and 
to  formulate  principles  about  which  subject  matter 
organizes  itself;  to  acquire  facility  and  precision  in 
interpreting  conditions  in  which  principles  are  in- 
volved, and  to  make  the  application  of  principles  to 
the  needs  of  daily  life.  In  this  general  teaching  aim, 
the  claim,  and  the  justification  of  the  claim,  of  form 
and  content  are  to  be  found. 

A  few  book  psychologists  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, the  teacher  is  the  true  psychologist.  Her 
mission  is  to  know  the  laws  of  mind  movement;  to 
know  how  the  mind  comes  to  possess  ideas  and  to  be 
possessed  by  ideas ;  to  know  how  to  present  her  sub- 
ject matter  in  harmony  with  that  movement  and 
with  those  laws.  Psychology  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  teacher  is  the  science  of  the  laws  of  mind  and  an 
exposition  of  the  manner  of  mind  movement.  Too 
many  teachers  there  are  who  think  their  psychology 
as  mere  book  psychology,  think  of  it  as  made  up  of 
an  arbitrary  number  of  chapters  dealing  with  sensa- 
tions, perceptions,  memory,  imagination,  etc. — a 
thing  proper  enough  for  the  student  of  psychology 
in  the  classroom,  but  foreign  to  the  classroom  from 
the  standpoint  of  the  teacher  of  any  other  subject. 
This  attitude  on  the  part  of  many  teachers,  and  even 
of  some  psychologists  themselves,  has  done  more  to 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   READING   PROBLEM  93 

retard  the  placing  of  teaching  upon  a  professional 
basis  than  any  other  one  factor. 

A  profession  demands  a  mastery  of  the  technique 
of  its  subject  matter  and  an  ability  to  forecast  the 
outcome  from  the  given  data.  The  lawyer  who 
knows  his  law  and  the  facts  and  precedents  pertain- 
ing thereto,  will  estimate  the  importance  of  the  facts 
in  the  case  and,  if  he  be  honest  and  competent,  will 
forecast  the  outcome  with  accuracy  and  precision. 
The  oculist  will  make  his  tests  on  the  eye  and,  if  he 
be  efficient  and  reliable,  will  prescribe  the  proper 
treatment  for  that  organ.  The  skilled  physi- 
cian and  surgeon  will  make  his  diagnosis,  pre- 
scribe the  remedy  and  relief  will  follow.  When 
the  skilled  teacher  can  forecast  the  outcome  of 
a  given  presentation  on  a  normal  mind,  and  can 
so  adjust  her  subject  matter  in  harmony  with  the 
laws  of  mind  that  the  forecasted  outcome  will  inev- 
itably follow,  she,  too,  will  take  her  place  among 
the  professionals,  and  will  no  longer  classify  her- 
self as  a  quack  nor  allow  others  so  to  classify 
her. 

The  psychology  of  the  teacher,  then,  is  essentially 
of  the  mind  —  not  foreign  to  or  supplementary  of 
the  mind.  The  sensations  of  psychology  are  merely 
the  things  attended  to  by  the  mind  or  to  which  the 
mind  may  attend  under  any  and  all  conditions. 
School  is  an  institution  that  aims  to  determine  just 
what  sensations  shall  claim  the  attention  of  the 
mind.  These  sensations  may  be  caused  by  the  plant 
or  animal  under  observation,  the  problem  up  for  so- 


94  LITERATURE   IIST   THE   SCHOOL 

lution,  or  the  poem  to  be  analyzed  and  read.  Per- 
ception is  the  being,  the  individuality,  given  to  the 
thing  from  which  the  individual  sensation  emanated. 
It  is  a  product  of  consciousness  arrived  at  through 
attending  the  sensations  presented  to  the  mind.  The 
concept  is  the  general  body  of  knowledge  made  up 
of  previous  experiences  through  sensations  deter- 
mined and  classified.  Memory  is  the  link  which 
unites  the  old  body  of  knowledge  with  the  new  ex- 
perience. It  is  stimulated  to  activity  by  the  appeal 
of  the  new  thing  placed  in  relation  to  the  mind.  The 
new  thing  of  itself  calls  up  old  experiences  which 
relate  to  it  through  its  demand  upon  the  mind  for 
recognition  and  classification.  Judgment  is  the  con- 
clusion of  the  mind  regarding  this  individual,  this 
new  item  of  experience  or  knowledge.  It  is  the  in- 
ference reached  from  previous  experiences  and  the 
given  data.  Reason  is  the  comparison  and  relation 
of  judgment  with  judgment  by  means  of  which  the 
idea  of  the  organic  whole  is  reached.  Will  is  the 
choice  of  the  determining  factors.  To  present  any 
subject  with  force  and  intelligence  the  teacher  must 
so  arrange  her  work,  must  so  plan  her  presentation, 
that  the  gamut  of  the  mind,  from  sensation  to  will, 
will  be  run  by  the  developing  mind.  Through  the 
greatest  intensity  and  diversity  does  the  mind  come 
to  its  fullest  development.  This,  in  a  very  brief 
way,  is  the  psychology  of  mind  movement,  the  prob- 
lem of  the  schoolroom,  the  determinant  of  its  meth- 
ods. No  lesson  performs  its  fullest  function  which 
does  not  make  provision  for  the  exercise  of  each  and 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE    BEADING   PROBLEM  95 

every  phase  of  mind  movement,  and  thus  aim  to 
insure  a  rational,  harmonious,  all-around  devel- 
opment. 

Suggested  Studies: 

I 

THE  SANDPIPER 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I, 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  driftwood  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit, — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  lighthouses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 
As  fast  we  flit  across  the  beach, — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along, 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry. 
He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 
He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong; 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye. 
Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong-, 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


96  LITEKATUEB   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously? 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly? 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky: 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  IV 

—Celia  Thaxter 

Thought  Analysis: 

Picture  ocean,  beach,  and  gathering  storm. 

Note  the  picture  on  the  narrow  beach,  the  sandpiper  flit- 
ting about,  the  maiden  gathering  driftwood. 

Meaning  of  driftwood.  How  does  it  become  "  bleached 
and  dry?  " 

Note  the  effect  in  the  picture  of  the  seeming  conflict  be- 
tween the  wind  and  waves  on  one  hand,  and  the  maiden  and 
sandpiper  on  the  other. 

Note  the  picture  of  the  beach  and  sky  and  sea,  the  hurry- 
ing storm-clouds,  the  ghost-like  lighthouses,  the  close-reefed 
vessels. 

Meaning  of  lighthouses,  scud,  close-reefed. 

Place  maiden  and  sandpiper  in  the  picture,  and  note  their 
movements  and  songs,  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  sandpiper, 
the  maiden's  response,  their  attitude  toward  and  effect 
upon  each  other.  Significance  of  this  feeling. 

Meaning  of 

"  Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong." 

Note  the  apparent  solicitude  of  the  maiden  in  her  ques- 
tions,— 

"To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly?" 
Note  also  her  faith  and  trust  in  the  lines, — 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM  97 

"  I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky; 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 
Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ?  " 

Suggested  Questions  on  the  Text: 

What  characters  are  talked  of  in  the  poem?  "Where  are 
they? 

Which  line  tells  what  they  are  doing? 

What  is  the  maiden  doing  ?     In  what  manner  ? 

The  wild  waves  do  what? 

The  winds  do  what  ? 

The  tide  does  what  ? 

When  is  all  this  done  ? 

What  are  above  their  heads  ? 

What  are  the  clouds  doing? 

How  do  the  lighthouses  stand  out  ? 

How  far  are  the  vessels  seen? 

What  kind  of  vessels  are  they?    Doing  what? 

This  is  done  as  the  author  and  the  sandpiper  do  what  ? 

What  does  the  maiden  say  of  the  sandpiper  ?  What  does 
he  do? 

Which  lines  tell  of  the  sandpiper's  attitude  toward  the 
maiden  ? 

Why  doesn't  he  show  fear? 

How  does  the  sandpiper  observe  the  maiden  ? 

Why  does  he  do  so? 

What  question  does  the  maiden  ask?    Why? 

Which  line  tells  of  her  comfortable  shelter? 

What  does  she  ask  of  him? 

What  does  she  say  of  him? 

Why  does  she  think  so  ? 


LITEBATUEE  IN  THE  SCHOOL 
II 

THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THOR 

I  am  the  God  Thor, 
I  am  the  War  God, 
I  am  the  Thunderer! 
Here  in  my  Northland, 
My  fastness  and  fortress, 
Reign  I  forever! 

Here  amid  icebergs 
Rule  I  the  nations; 
This  is  my  hammer, 
Miolner  the  mighty; 
Giants  and  sorcerers 
Cannot  withstand  it] 

These  are  the  gauntlets 
Wherewith  I  wield  it, 
And  hurl  it  afar  off; 
This  is  my  girdle; 
Whenever  I  brace  it, 
Strength  is  redoubled! 

The  light  thou  beholdest 
Stream  through  the  heavens^ 
In  flashes  of  crimson, 
Is  but  my  red  beard 
Blown  by  the  night  wind 
Affrighting  the  nations! 

Jove  is  my  brother; 

Mine  eyes  are  the  lightning; 

The  wheels  of  my  chariot 

Roll  in  the  thunder, 

The  blows  of  my  hammer 

Ring  in  the  earthquake! 


PSYCHOLOGY  AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM  99 

Force  rules  the  world  still, 
Has  ruled  it,  shall  rule  it; 
Meekness  is  weakness, 
Strength  is  triumphant, 
Over  the  whole  earth 
Still  is  it  Thor's  Day! 
—Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow:  "  The  Saga  of  King  Olaf  r 

Thought  Analysis: 

Picture  the  isolated,  frost-bound  Northland  with  its  snow 
and  icebergs.  Note  the  gigantic  Thor  standing  on  these 
heights  and  thundering  to  the  nations  of  the  earth.  Note 
his  introduction  of  himself,  the  location  of  his  home,  brief 
description,  and  statement  of  what  he  does. 

Why  does  he  repeat  this  last  idea  in  the  lines: 

u  Here  amid  icebergs 
Rule  I  the  nations;"? 

Note  the  symbols  of  his  power,  the  hammer,  the  gauntlets, 
the  girdle,  and  the  effect  and  significance  of  each. 

Picture  the  northern  lights,  their  movement  and  effect. 
Note  his  explanation  of  this  light  and  the  purpose  of  same. 

Suggested  Questions: 

What  three  things  does  Thor  say  of  himself  in  his  intro- 
duction ? 

He  says  he  is  where  ? 

What  does  he  call  his  Northland? 

He  says  he  does  what  there? 

What  are  all  about  him  in  his  Northland? 

What  does  he  do  amid  them  ? 

What  does  he  say  of  his  hammer  ? 

What  does  he  say  of  his  gauntlets? 


100  LITEKATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

What  does  he  say  of  his  girdle  ? 

What  is  meant  by  "thou  beholdest?" 

What  does  he  say  the  light  is? 

What  causes  it? 

What  effect  has  it  on  the  nations  V 

Who  is  Jove? 

What  are  Thor's  eyes? 

What  is  the  thunder? 

What  is  the  earthquake? 

What  does  he  say  of  Force?  of  Meekness?  of  Strength? 

What  boast  does  he  make  ? 

The  thought  analysis  as  suggested  in  these  studies 
should  always  precede  any  attempt  to  read  or  mem- 
orize a  poem.  The  thought  analysis  is  but  an  at- 
tempt to  make  a  sharp  and  fitting  association  be- 
tween form  and  content,  and  any  reading  or  memory 
work  worthy  of  the  name  must  establish  and  pre- 
serve this  association.  Furthermore,  the  study  of 
content  through  form  intensifies  both  form  and  con- 
tent and  greatly  reduces  the  time  and  energy  re- 
quired for  memory  work. 

Teachers  may  be  surprised  to  know  that  many 
classes  will  give  a  poem  from  memory  after  a  study 
and  reading  if  the  teachers  will  but  follow  some  such 
plan  as  indicated  in  the  suggested  questions.  Little 
extra  time  and  effort  will  be  required  to  make  the 
poem  the  possession  of  each  individual.  Of  all  the 
useless  and  inexcusable  drudgery  imposed  upon 
children  the  most  pernicious,  inexcusable  and  use- 
less is  the  memorizing  of  poems  by  rote — with 
rhyme  but  without  reason. 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   READING   PROBLEM          101 
III 

THE   SOLITARY  REAPER 


Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass ! 
Reaping  and  singing  to  herself; 

Stop  here,  or  gently  pass! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain; 
Oh,  listen !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 


No  nightingale  did  ever  chant 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travelers  in  some  shady  haunt, 

Amid  Arabian  sands: 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 
In  springtime  from  the  cuckoo  bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 


Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings? 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again? 


102  LITEBATUBB  IN  THE   SCHOOL 

Whatever  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending; — 
I  listened,  motionless  and  still; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore, 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

— Wordsworth 

In  the  thought  analysis  of  the  poem  the  teacher 
must  center  the  mind  upon  the  detailed  thought 
which  unified  makes  up  the  organic  whole.  To  direct 
the  attention  is  to  arouse  the  curiosity  and  to  stim- 
ulate the  interest.  The  analysis  and  meaning  are 
within  the  poem,  not  without.  So,  too,  are  all  the 
facts  and  factors.  The  teacher  must  keep  in  mind 
that  the  reader,  not  the  poem,  is  the  exhaustible 
quantity.  She  must  press  the  analysis  to  the  limits 
of  class  capacity,  and  may  then  supplement  accord- 
ing to  the  needs  of  the  poem  or  the  interest  and 
ambition  of  the  class.  The  manner  in  which  the 
author's  thought  unfolds  itself,  is  the  key  to  the 
method  and  manner  of  analysis.  To  illustrate : 

"Behold  her"  is  addressed  to  the  reader  for  the  purpose 
of  arousing  the  curiosity  and  of  directing  the  interest. 
This  curiosity,  the  genesis  of  interest,  is  directed  to  the 
solitary  maiden  who  reaps  and  sings  to  herself.  The  ex- 
pression "Highland  Lass"  locates  the  maiden  in  place.  It 
calls  to  mind  the  peculiar  costume  of  the  Highland  Scotch, 
and  at  the  same  time  suggests  the  rugged,  mountainous 
country  with  which  that  costume  is  associated.  The  "reap- 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM  103 

ing"  locates  the  time  in  season.  The  first  three  lines  then 
set  the  theme  in  time  and  place. 

The  reference  to  the  " Highland  Lass"  is  suggestive  of  a 
field  of  golden  grain  lying  in  a  valley  on  either  side  of  which 
lie  vine-clad  hills  and  rugged  peaks,  the  highest  of  which 
perhaps  tower  above  the  snow  line.  Over  valley,  foot-hills 
and  towering  peaks,  stretches  the  infinite,  cloud-flecked  sky. 
Over  all  the  landscape  the  checkered  sunshine  and  shadows 
play.  The  significance  of  the  picture  is  to  define  clearly  the 
individual  setting  in  which  the  author  finds  his  theme. 

In  the  fourth  line  the  poet  turns  the  attention  from  the 
maiden  and  her  setting  to  the  quality  of  the  song  which 
she  sings.  He  intensifies  our  interest  in  the  singing  by  the 
evident  reluctance  to  permit  an  interruption  as  evidenced 
in  the  line 

"  Stop  here,  or  gently  pass." 

After  the  attention  has  been  transferred  to  the  quality  of 
the  singing  the  poet-artist  turns  the  attention  back  to  her 
task  in  order  to  emphasize  especially  the  quality  of  her  sing- 
ing by  contrasting  the  drudgery  of  her  labor  with  the  uplift 
of  her  song.  The  nature  of  the  music  is  suggested  by  the 
word  "melancholy"  to  picture  the  harmony  between  her 
feelings  and  the  loneliness  of  her  surroundings.  This  lone- 
liness has  been  emphasized  by  the  repeated  expressions: 
11  single,"  "solitary,"  and  "alone." 

The  poet  then  forcibly  directs  the  attention  to  the  song, 
in  the  lines : 

"  Oh,  listen !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound." 

The  quality  of  this  singing  is  held  before  the  mind  by  the 
comparisons  which  the  poet  makes  between  this  wild  out- 
burst of  melody  and  other  melodies  piped  or  sung  under  the 


104  LITEEATURB  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

most  favorable  conditions  for  impressing  the  hearers  with 
their  sweetness  and  beauty.  The  notes  of  the  maiden  are  first 
compared  to  the  notes  of  the  nightingale  as  she  sings  to  a 
weary,  thirsty,  travel-stained  band  of  travelers  who  have 
journeyed  all  day  under  the  burning  sun  over  the  hot  and 
pitiless  Arabian  desert.  Her  notes,  suggestive  of  the  oasis 
with  its  shelter  from  the  sun,  and  water  to  quench  the  thirst, 
will  seem  at  their  sweetest  and  best.  The  notes  of  the  sweet- 
singing  nightingale  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances 
do  not  surpass  the  notes  of  the  solitary  maiden  in  sweetness 
and  uplift.  Thus  the  quality  of  the  maiden 's  singing  is  in- 
tensified by  the  contrast. 

This  quality  of  the  maiden's  singing  is  still  further  inten- 
sified by  a  comparison  with  the  notes  of  the  cuckoo  hailing 
the  advent  of  spring  among  the  northern  islands  after 
the  frosts  and  cold  and  storms  of  winter.  The  cuckoo's 
notes  now  seem  at  their  sweetest  and  best  because  of 
their  suggestiveness  of  the  approach  of  the  springtime, 
but  the  song  of  the  maiden  is  more  beautiful,  and  again  the 
quality  of  the  singing  has  been  intensified  by  contrast. 
These  comparisons  signify  that  the  most  musical  of  nature 's 
melodies  have  seldom  equalled,  and  have  never  surpassed 
the  wild  beauty  of  the  maiden 's  song.  Thus  the  highest  in- 
tensity is  given  to  the  maiden's  singing. 

At  this  point  in  the  poem  the  poet  anticipates  the  reader's 
wish  and  asks,  "Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings?"  In 
the  use  of  the  word  * '  perhaps "  as  he  attempts  to  answer  his 
question  and  ours,  the  poet  hints  that  he  doesn't  know  the 
theme  of  that  particular  bit  of  music,  and  suggests  that  the 
universal  flow  of  music  from  the  soul,  not  the  particular 
embodiment,  is  the  all-important.  The  poet  suggests  that 
the  maiden  may  be  singing  a  song  of  national  defeat  in 
battle  or  a  lamentation  for  the  fallen  heroes.  He  also  sug- 
gests that  her  loss  may  be  personal,  not  national ;  it  may  be 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM          105 

a  family  loss  through  death ;  or  family  ties  may  have  been 
broken  through  separations.  All  of  these  themes  are  melan- 
choly in  nature  and  are  therefore  suggested. 

The  poet  re-emphasizes  his  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  indi- 
vidual theme  by  the  lines : 

"  Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending," 

and  brings  to  mind  forcibly  that  the  uplift  is  in  the  singing, 
not  in  the  song. 

The  effect  of  the  song  is  pictured  in  the  lines: 

"  I  listened,  motionless  and  still, 
And  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore." 

The  poem  as  a  whole  attests  to  the  triumph  of  the  spirit 
over  the  material  limitations  and  conditions  of  life.  It 
witnesses,  too,  the  influence  which  one  individual  has  upon 
another  in  stimulating  him  to  the  higher  things  in  life. 
For  example : 

"I  listened,  motionless  and  still/' 

and 

"  The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more." 

The  teacher  may  find  it  profitable  to  contrast  the  final 
thought  with  the  central  thought  in  Emerson's  "Each  and 
All. ' '  The  significance  of  the  following  lines  may  profit  by 
the  comparison : 

"  Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent," 


106  LITEKATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

The  following  lines  from  Dunbar  's  humbler  note  may  also 
be  called  up  for  comparison : 

u  Sometimes  the  sun,  unkindly  hot, 
My  garden  makes  a  desert  spot; 
Sometimes  a  blight  upon  the  tree 
Takes  all  my  fruit  away  from  me, — 
And  then  with  throes  of  bitter  pain, 
Rebellious  passions  rise  and  swell — 
But — Life  is  more  than  fruit  and  grain — 
And  so  I  sing  and  all  is  well." 

Questions  Suggested  for  Directing  the  Study  of  the  Text: 

"  Behold  her  "  is  addressed  to  whom  and  for  what  pur- 
pose? 

To  what  is  the  attention  next  directed  ? 

How  does  the  poet  picture  this  solitary  maiden  more 
vividly  ? 

The  first  three  lines  of  the  poem  have  what  bearing  on 
the  theme  ? 

"What  is  the  significance  of  the  picture  as  thus  defined  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  fourth  line? 

How  does  the  poet  intensify  the  interest  in  the  singing? 

Why  does  he  repeat  the  fact  of  her  doing  ? 

How  is  the  nature  of  the  music  suggested  and  why  ? 

How  has  this  loneliness  been  emphasized? 

How  is  the  attention  again  centered  upon  the  singing  ? 

In  what  manner  is  the  quality  of  the  singing  held  before 
the  mind  ? 

To  what  are  the  notes  of  the  maiden  first  compared  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  contrast? 

With  what  other  singing  is  the  maiden's  compared  and 
under  what  conditions  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  these  comparisons  ? 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE   BEADING   PROBLEM          107 

How  does  the  poet  anticipate  the  reader? 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  word  '  '  perhaps ' '  ? 

What  suggestions  are  made  concerning  the  theme? 

Why  are  these  suggestions  made? 

How  does  the  poet  emphasize  his  lack  of  knowledge  of 
the  particular  theme?  Why? 

How  does  the  poet  indicate  the  effect  of  the  song? 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  poem  as  a  whole  ? 

What  is  the  value  of  comparing  the  central  thought  of 
the  poem  with  other  poems  ? 

How  may  the  poem  be  most  economically  and  effectively 
memorized  after  the  thought  analysis  has  been  made  ? 

What  is  the  value  of  memorizing  any  poem  ? 

What  may  be  the  outcome  of  constantly  associating 
elevated  thought  with  artistic  form? 


IV 
THE  DAY  IS  DONE 

(Study  and  Contrast) 

The  day  is  done  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night, 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist: 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing, 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 


108  LITEKATUBB  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 

Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay, 
That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 

And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters, 

Not  from  the  bards  sublime, 
Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 

Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music, 

Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 
Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavor; 

And  to-night  I  long  for  rest. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start ; 

Who  through  long  days  of  labor, 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  a  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day, 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  silently  steal  away. 

— Longfellow 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   THE  BEADING  PKOBLEM          109 

V 
THE  DAFFODILS 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host,  of  golden  daffodils; 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 
They  stretched  in  never  ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay: 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced;  but  they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee; 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 

In  such  a  jocund  company: 

I  gazed  and  gazed — but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought: 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

— Wordsworth 


CHAPTEE  VII 

THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE 

One  afternoon  when  the  sun  was  going  down,  a  mother  and  her 
little  boy  sat  at  the  door  of  their  cottage,  talking  about  the  Great 
Stone  Face.  They  had  but  to  lift  their  eyes,  and  there  it  was 
plainly  to  be  seen,  though  miles  away,  with  the  sunshine  brighten- 
ing all  its  features. 

And  what  was  the  Great  Stone  Face?  The  Great  Stone  Face 
was  a  work  of  Nature  in  her  mood  of  majestic  playfulness 
formed  on  the  perpendicular  side  of  a  mountain  by  some  immense 
rocks,  which  had  been  thrown  together  in  such  a  position  as,  when 
viewed  at  a  proper  distance,  precisely  to  resemble  the  features 
of  the  human  countenance.  It  seemed  as  if  an  enormous  giant,  or 
a  Titan,  had  sculptured  his  own  likeness  on  the  precipice.  There 
was  the  broad  arch  of  the  forehead,  a  hundred  feet  in  height; 
the  nose,  with  its  long  bridge;  and  the  vast  lips,  which,  if  they 
could  have  spoken,  would  have  rolled  their  thunder  accents  from 
one  end  of  the  valley  to  the  other. 

It  was  a  happy  lot  for  children  to  grow  up  to  manhood  or 
womanhood  with  the  Great  Stone  Face  before  their  eyes,  for  all 
the  features  were  noble,  and  the  expression  was  at  once  grand 
and  sweet,  as  if  it  were  the  glow  of  a  vast,  warm  heart,  that  em- 
braced all  mankind  in  its  affections,  and  had  room  for  more. 

As  we  began  with  saying,  a  mother  and  her  little  boy  sat  at 
their  cottage  door,  gazing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face,  and  talking 
about  it.  The  child's  name  was  Ernest.  "Mother,"  said  he,  while 
the  Titanic  visage  smiled  on  him,  "I  wish  that  it  could  speak 
for  it  looks  so  very  kindly  that  its  voice  must  be  pleasant.  If 
I  were  to  see  a  man  with  such  a  face,  I  should  love  him  dearly." 

"If  an  old  prophecy  should  come  to  pass,"  answered  his  mother, 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  111 

"  we  may  see  a  man,  some  time  or  other,  with  exactly  such  a  face 
as  that/' 

"  What  prophecy  do  you  mean,  dear  mother?  "  eagerly  inquired 
Ernest.  "  Pray  tell  me  all  about  it !  " 

So  his  mother  told  him  a  story  that  her  own  mother  had  told  to 
her,  when  she  herself  was  younger  than  little  Ernest;  a  story, 
not  of  things  that  were  past,  but  of  what  was  yet  to  come ;  a  story, 
nevertheless,  so  very  old  that  even  the  Indians,  who  formerly  in- 
habited this  valley,  had  heard  it  from  their  forefathers,  to  whom, 
they  believed,  it  had  been  murmured  by  the  mountain  streams, 
and  whispered  by  the  wind  among  the  tree-tops.  The  story  said 
that  at  some  future  day  a  child  should  be  born  hereabouts  who 
was  destined  to  become  the  greatest  and  noblest  man  of  his  time, 
and  whose  countenance,  in  manhood,  should  bear  an  exact  re- 
semblance to  the  Great  Stone  Face. 

"  0  mother,  dear  mother ! "  cried  Ernest,  clapping  his  hands 
above  his  head,  "  I  do  hope  that  I  shall  live  to  see  him ! "  His 
mother  was  an  affectionate  and  thoughtful  woman,  and  felt  that  it 
was  wisest  not  to  discourage  the  hopes  of  her  little  boy.  She  only 
said  to  him,  "  Perhaps  you  may." 

And  Ernest  never  forgot  the  story  that  his  mother  told  him. 
It  was  always  in  his  mind  whenever  he  looked  upon  the  Great 
Stone  Face.  He  spent  his  childhood  in  the  log  cottage  where  he 
was  born,  and  was  dutiful  to  his  mother,  and  helpful  to  her  in 
many  things,  assisting  her  much  with  his  little  hands,  and  more 
with  his  loving  heart.  In  this  manner,  from  the  happy  yet 
thoughtful  child,  he  grew  to  be  a  mild,  quiet,  modest  boy,  sun- 
browned  with  labor  in  the  fields,  but  with  more  intelligence  in  his 
face  than  is  seen  in  many  lads  who  have  been  taught  at  famous 
schools.  Yet  Ernest  had  no  teacher,  save  only  that  the  Great 
Stone  Face  became  one  to  him.  When  the  toil  of  the  day  was 
over,  he  would  gaze  at  it  for  hours,  until  he  began  to  imagine 
that  those  features  recognized  him,  and  gave  him  a  smile  of  kind- 
ness and  encouragement  in  response  to  his  own  look  of  venera- 
tion. We  must  not  take  upon  us  to  affirm  that  this  was  a  mis- 
take, although  the  Face  may  have  looked  no  more  kindly  at 
Ernest  than  at  all  the  world  besides.  For  the  secret  was  that  the 


112  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

boy's  tender  simplicity  discerned  what  other  people  could  not 
see;  and  thus  the  love,  which  was  meant  for  all,  became  his  alone. 

About  this  time,  there  went  a  rumor  throughout  the  valley  that 
the  great  man,  foretold  from  ages  long  ago,  who  was  to  bear  a  re- 
semblance to  the  Great  Stone  Face,  had  appeared  at  last.  It 
seems  that,  many  years  before,  a  young  man  had  left  the  valley 
and  settled  at  a  distant  seaport,  where,  after  getting  together  a 
little  money,  he  had  set  up  as  a  shopkeeper.  His  name — but 
I  could  never  learn  whether  it  was  his  real  one,  or  a  nickname  that 
had  grown  out  of  his  habits  and  success  in  life — was  Gathergold. 

It  might  be  said  of  him,  as  of  Midas  in  the  fable,  that  what- 
ever he  touched  with  his  finger  immediately  glistened,  and  grew 
yellow,  and  was  changed  at  once  into  coin.  And  when  Mr.  Gath- 
ergold had  become  so  rich  that  it  would  have  taken  him  a  hun- 
dred years  only  to  count  his  wealth,  he  bethought  himself  of  his 
native  valley  and  resolved  to  go  back  thither,  and  end  his  days 
where  he  was  born.  With  this  purpose  in  view,  he  sent  a  skilful 
architect  to  build  him  such  a  palace  as  should  be  fit  for  a  man  of 
his  vast  wealth  to  live  in. 

As  I  have  said  above,  it  had  already  been  rumored  in  the  valley 
that  Mr.  Gathergold  had  turned  out  to  be  the  person  so  long  and 
vainly  looked  for,  and  that  his  visage  was  the  perfect  and  un- 
deniable likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face.  People  were  the  more 
ready  to  believe  that  this  must  needs  be  the  fact  when  they  beheld 
the  splendid  edifice  that  rose,  as  if  by  enchantment,  on  the  site  of 
his  father's  old  weather-beaten  farmhouse.  The  exterior  was  of 
marble,  so  dazzling  white  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  struc- 
ture might  melt  away  in  the  sunshine,  like  those  humbler  ones 
which  Mr.  Gathergold,  in  his  young  playdays,  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  build  of  snow.  It  had  a  richly  ornamented  portico,  sup- 
ported by  tall  pillars,  beneath  which  was  a  lofty  door  studded 
with  silver  knobs,  and  made  of  a  kind  of  variegated  wood  that  had 
been  brought  from  beyond  the  seas.  The  windows,  from  the 
floor  to  the  ceiling  of  each  stately  apartment,  were  each  com- 
posed of  but  one  enormous  pane  of  glass.  Hardly  anybody  had 
been  permitted  to  see  the  interior  of  this  palace;  but  it  was  re- 
ported to  be  far  more  gorgeous  than  the  outside,  insomuch  that 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  113 

whatever  was  iron  or  brass  in  other  houses  was  silver  or  gold  in 
this ;  and  Mr.  Gathergold's  bedchamber,  especially,  made  .such  a 
glittering  appearance  that  no  ordinary  man  would  have  been  able 
to  close  his  eyes  there.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Gathergold 
was  now  so  accustomed  to  wealth  that  perhaps  he  could  not  have 
closed  his  eyes  unless  where  the  gleam  of  it  was  certain  to  find  its 
way  beneath  his  eyelids. 

In  due  time,  the  mansion  was  finished;  next  came  the  uphol- 
sterers, with  magnificent  furniture;  then  a  whole  troop  of  black 
and  white  servants,  the  harbingers  of  Mr.  Gathergold,  who,  in 
his  own  majestic  person,  was  expected  to  arrive  at  sunset.  Our 
friend  Ernest,  meanwhile,  had  been  deeply  stirred  by  the  idea 
that  the  great  man,  the  noble  man,  the  man  of  prophecy,  after  so 
many  ages  of  delay,  was  at  length  to  appear  in  his  native  val- 
ley. He  knew,  boy  as  he  was,  that  there  were  a  thousand  ways 
in  which  Mr.  Gathergold,  with  his  vast  wealth,  might  transform 
himself  into  an  angel  of  beneficence,  and  assume  a  control  over 
human  affairs  as  wide  and  benignant  as  the  smile  of  the  Great 
Stone  Face.  Full  of  faith  and  hope,  Ernest  doubted  not  that 
what  the  people  said  was  true,  and  that  now  he  was  to  behold 
the  living  likeness  of  those  wondrous  features  on  the  mountain 
side.  While  the  boy  was  still  gazing  up  the  valley,  and  fancying, 
as  he  always  did,  that  the  Great  Stone  Face  returned  his  gaze 
and  looked  kindly  at  him,  the  rumbling  of  wheels  was  heard,  ap- 
proaching swiftly  along  the  winding  road. 

"  Here  he  comes !  "  cried  a  group  of  people  who  were  assembled 
to  witness  the  arrival.  "  Here  comes  the  great  Mr.  Gathergold ! " 

A  carriage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  dashed  round  the  turn  of 
the  road.  Within  it,  thrust  partly  out  of  the  window,  appeared 
the  face  of  a  little  old  man,  with  a  skin  as  yellow  as  gold.  He 
had  a  low  forehead,  small,  sharp  eyes,  puckered  about  with  in- 
numerable wrinkles,  and  very  thin  lips,  which  he  made  still  thinner 
by  pressing  them  forcibly  together. 

"  The  very  image  of  the  Great  Stone  Face ! "  shouted  the  people. 
"  Sure  enough,  the  old  prophecy  is  true ;  and  the  great  man  has 
come  at  last !  " 

And,  what  greatly  perplexed  Ernest,  they  seemed  actually  to 


114  UTEBATUBE  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

believe  that  here  was  the  likeness  which  they  spoke  of.  By  the 
roadside  there  chanced  to  be  an  old  beggar  woman  and  two  little 
beggar  children,  stragglers  from  some  far-off  region,  who,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  onward,  held  out  their  hands  and  lifted  up  their 
doleful  voices,  most  piteously  beseeching  charity.  A  yellow  claw 
— the  very  same  that  had  clawed  together  so  much  wealth — poked 
itself  out  of  the  coach  window,  and  dropped  some  copper  coins 
upon  the  ground ;  so  that,  though  the  great  man's  name  seems  to 
have  been  Gathergold,  he  might  just  as  suitably  have  been  nick- 
named Scattercopper.  Still,  nevertheless,  with  an  earnest  shout, 
and  evidently  with  as  much  good  faith  as  ever,  the  people  bel- 
lowed : 

"  He  is  the  very  image  of  the  Great  Stone  Face ! " 
But  Ernest  turned  sadly  from  the  wrinkled  shrewdness  of  that 
visage  and  gazed  up  the  valley,  where,  amid  a  gathering  mist, 
gilded  by  the  last  sunbeams,  he  could  still  distinguish  those  glori- 
ous features  which  had  impressed  themselves  into  his  soul.  Their 
aspect  cheered  him.  What  did  the  benign  lips  seem  to  say? 
"He  will  come!  Fear  not,  Ernest;  the  man  will  come!" 
The  years  went  on,  and  Ernest  ceased  to  be  a  boy.  He  had 
grown  to  be  a  young  man  now.  He  attracted  little  notice  from 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  valley,  for  they  saw  nothing  remark- 
able in  his  way  of  life,  save  that,  when  the  labor  of  the  day  was 
over,  he  still  loved  to  go  apart,  and  gaze  and  meditate  upon  the 
Great  Stone  Face.  According  to  their  idea  of  the  matter,  how- 
ever, it  was  a  pardonable  folly,  for  Ernest  was  industrious,  kind, 
and  neighborly,  and  neglected  no  duty  for  the  sake  of  this  idle 
habit.  They  knew  not  that  the  Great  Stone  Face  had  become  a 
teacher  to  him,  and  that  the  sentiment  which  was  expressed  in  it 
would  enlarge  the  young  man's  heart,  and  fill  it  with  wider  and 
deeper  sympathies  than  other  hearts.  They  knew  not  that  thence 
would  come  a  better  wisdom  than  could  be  learned  from  books, 
and  a  better  life  than  could  be  molded  on  the  example  of  other 
human  lives.  Neither  did  Ernest  know  that  the  thoughts  and 
affections  which  came  to  him  so  naturally,  in  the  fields  and  at  the 
fireside,  were  of  a  higher  tone  than  those  which  all  men  shared 
with  him.  A  simple  soul, — simple  as  when  his  mother  first  taught 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  115 

him  the  old  prophecy, — he  beheld  the  marvelous  features  beaming 
down  the  valley,  and  still  wondered  that  their  human  counterpart 
was  so  long  in  making  his  appearance. 

By  this  time  poor  Mr.  Gathergold  was  dead  and  buried ;  and  the 
oddest  part  of  the  matter  was  that  his  wealth,  which  was  the  body 
and  spirit  of  his  existence,  had  disappeared  before  his  death,  leav- 
ing nothing  of  him  but  a  living  skeleton,  covered  over  with  a  wrin- 
kled, yellow  skin.  Since  the  melting  away  of  his  gold,  it  had  been 
very  generally  conceded  that  there  was  no  such  striking  resem- 
blance, after  all,  betwixt  the  ignoble  features  of  the  ruined  mer- 
chant and  that  majestic  face  upon  the  mountain  side.  So  the  peo- 
ple ceased  to  honor  him  during  his  lifetime,  and  quietly  forgot  him 
after  his  decease.  Once  in  a  while,  it  is  true,  his  memory  was 
brought  up  in  connection  with  the  magnificent  palace  which  he 
had  built,  and  which  had  long  ago  been  turned  into  a  hotel  for  the 
accommodation  of  strangers,  multitudes  of  whom  came,  every 
summer,  to  visit  that  famous  natural  curiosity,  the  Great  Stone 
Face.  The  man  of  prophecy  was  yet  to  come. 

It  so  happened  that  a  native-born  son  of  the  valley  many  years 
before,  had  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  hard 
fighting,  had  now  become  an  illustrious  commander.  Whatever 
he  may  be  called  in  history,  he  was  known  in  camps  and  on  the 
battlefield  under  the  nickname  of  Old  Blood-and-Thunder.  This 
war-worn  veteran,  being  now  weary  of  a  military  life,  and  of  the 
roll  of  the  drum  and  the  clangor  of  the  trumpet  that  had  so  long 
been  ringing  in  his  ears,  had  lately  signified  a  purpose  of  return- 
ing to  his  native  valley,  hoping  to  find  repose  where  he  remem- 
bered to  have  left  it.  The  inhabitants,  his  old  neighbors  and  their 
grown-up  children,  were  resolved  to  welcome  the  renowned  war- 
rior with  a  salute  of  cannon  and  a  public  dinner;  and  all  the  more 
enthusiastically  because  it  was  believed  that  at  last  the  likeness 
of  the  Great  Stone  Face  had  actually  appeared.  A  friend  of  Old 
Blood-and-Thunder,  traveling  through  the  valley,  was  said  to  have 
been  struck  with  the  resemblance.  Moreover,  the  schoolmates  and 
early  acquaintances  of  the  general  were  ready  to  testify,  on  oath, 
that,  to  the  best  of  their  recollection,  the  general  had  been  exceed- 
ingly like  the  majestic  image,  even  when  a  boy,  only  that  the  idea 


116  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

had  never  occurred  to  them  at  that  period.  Great,  therefore,  was 
the  excitement  throughout  the  valley;  and  many  people,  who  had 
never  once  thought  of  glancing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face  for  years 
before,  now  spent  their  time  in  gazing  at  it,  for  the  sake  of  know- 
ing exactly  how  General  Blood-and-Thunder  looked. 

On  the  day  of  the  great  festival,  Ernest  and  all  the  other  people 
of  the  valley  left  their  work,  and  proceeded  to  the  spot  where 
the  banquet  was  prepared.  As  he  approached,  the  loud  voice  of 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Battleblast  was  heard,  beseeching  a  blessing  on  the 
good  things  set  before  them,  and  on  the  distinguished  friend  of 
peace  in  whose  honor  they  were  assembled.  The  tables  were  ar- 
ranged in  a  cleared  space  of  the  woods,  shut  in  by  the  surrounding 
trees,  except  where  a  vista  opened  eastward,  and  afforded  a  dis- 
tant view  of  the  Great  Stone  Face.  Over  the  general's  chair, 
which  was  a  relic  from  the  home  of  Washington,  there  was  an 
arch  of  green  boughs  and  laurel  surmounted  by  his  country's 
banner,  beneath  which  he  had  won  his  victories.  Our  friend 
Ernest  raised  himself  on  his  tiptoes,  in  hopes  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  celebrated  guest;  but  there  was  a  mighty  crowd  about  the 
tables  anxious  to  hear  the  toasts  and  speeches,  and  to  catch  any 
words  that  might  fall  from  the  general  in  reply;  and  a  volunteer 
company,  doing  duty  as  a  guard,  pricked  with  their  bayonets  at 
any  particularly  quiet  person  among  the  throng.  So  Ernest, 
being  of  a  modest  character,  was  thrust  quite  into  the  background, 
where  he  could  see  no  more  of  Old  Blood-and-Thunder's  face  than 
if  it  had  been  still  blazing  on  the  battlefield.  To  console  himself 
he  turned  toward  the  Great  Stone  Face,  which,  like  a  faithful  and 
long-remembered  friend,  looked  back  and  smiled  upon  him 
through  the  forest.  Meantime,  however,  he  could  overhear  the  re- 
marks of  various  individuals  who  were  comparing  the  features  of 
the  hero  with  the  face  on  the  distant  mountainside. 

"  'Tis  the  same  face,  to  a  hair !  "  cried  one  man,  cutting  a  caper 
for  joy. 

"  Wonderfully  like,  that's  a  fact !  "  responded  another. 

"Lake!  Why,  I  call  it  Old  Blood-and-Thunder  himself,  in  a 
monstrous  looking-glass ! "  cried  a  third.  "And  why  not?  He's 
the  greatest  man  of  this  or  any  other  age,  beyond  a  doubt." 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  117 

"The  general!  The  general!"  was  now  the  cry.  "Hush! 
Silence!  Old  Blood-and-Thunder's  going  to  make  a  speech." 

Even  so;  for,  the  cloth  being  removed,  the  general's  health  had 
been  drunk  amid  shouts  of  applause,  and  he  now  stood  upon  his 
feet  to  thank  the  company.  Ernest  saw  him.  There  he  was,  over 
the  shoulders  of  the  crowd,  from  the  two  glittering  epaulets  and 
embroidered  collar  upward,  beneath  the  arch  of  green  boughs  with 
intertwined  laurel,  and  the  banner  drooping  as  if  to  shade  his 
brow!  And  there,  too,  visible  in  the  same  glance,  appeared  the 
Great  Stone  Face!  And  was  there,  indeed,  such  a  resemblance 
as  the  crowd  had  testified?  Alas,  Ernest  could  not  recognize  it! 
He  beheld  a  war-worn  and  weather-beaten  countenance,  full  of 
energy,  and  expressive  of  an  iron  will;  but  the  gentle  wisdom, 
the  deep,  broad,  tender  sympathies  were  altogether  wanting  in 
Old  Blood-and-Thunder*s  visage. 

u  This  is  not  the  man  of  prophecy,"  sighed  Ernest  to  himself, 
as  he  made  his  way  out  of  the  throng.  "  And  must  the  world  wait 
longer  yet?" 

The  mists  had  gathered  about  the  distant  mountainside,  and 
there  were  seen  the  grand  and  awful  features  of  the  Great  Stone 
Face,  awful  but  benignant,  as  if  a  mighty  angel  were  sitting 
among  the  hills  and  enrobing  himself  in  a  cloud  vesture  of  gold 
and  purple.  As  he  looked,  Ernest  could  hardly  believe  but  that 
a  smile  beamed  over  the  whole  visage,  with  a  radiance  still  bright- 
ening, although  without  motion  of  the  lips.  It  was  probably  the 
effects  of  the  western  sunshine,  melting  the  thin  vapors  that  had 
swept  between  him  and  the  object  that  he  gazed  at.  But — as  it 
always  did — the  aspect  of  his  marvelous  friend  made  Ernest  as 
hopeful  as  if  he  had  never  hoped  in  vain.  "  Fear  not,  Ernest," 
said  his  heart,  even  as  if  the  Great  Face  were  whispering  to  him — 
"  fear  not,  Ernest." 

More  years  sped  swiftly  and  tranquilly  away.  Ernest  still 
dwelt  in  his  native  valley,  and  was  now  a  man  of  middle  age.  By 
slow  degrees  he  had  become  known  among  the  people.  Now,  as 
heretofore,  he  labored  for  his  bread,  and  was  the  simple-hearted 
man  that  he  had  always  been.  But  he  had  thought  and  felt  so 
much,  he  had  given  so  many  of  the  best  hours  of  his  life  to  un- 


118  LITEBATUKE  IN"   THE  SCHOOL 

worldly  hopes  for  some  great  good  to  mankind,  that  it  seemed 
as  though  he  had  been  talking  with  the  angels,  and  had  imbibed 
a  portion  of  their  wisdom  unawares.  It  was  visible  in  the  calm 
beneficence  of  his  daily  life,  the  quiet  stream  of  which  had  made 
a  wide,  green  margin  all  along  its  course.  Not  a  day  passed  by 
that  the  world  was  not  the  better  because  this  man,  humble  as  he 
was,  had  lived.  He  never  stepped  aside  from  his  own  path,  yet 
would  always  reach  a  blessing  to  his  neighbor.  Almost  involun- 
tarily, too,  he  had  become  a  preacher.  The  pure  and  high  sim- 
plicity of  his  thought,  which  took  shape  in  the  good  deeds  that 
dropped  silently  from  his  hand,  flowed  also  forth  in  speech.  He 
uttered  truths  that  molded  the  lives  of  those  who  heard  him.  His 
hearers,  it  may  be,  never  suspected  that  Ernest,  their  own  neigh- 
bor and  familiar  friend,  was  more  than  an  ordinary  man;  least 
of  all  did  Ernest  himself  suspect  it ;  but  thoughts  came  out  of  his 
mouth  that  no  other  human  lips  had  spoken. 

When  the  people's  minds  had  had  a  little  time  to  cool,  they 
were  ready  enough  to  acknowledge  their  mistake  in  imagining  a 
similarity  between  General  Blood-and-Thunder  and  the  benign 
visage  on  the  mountain  side.  But  now,  again,  there  were  reports 
and  many  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  affirming  that  the  like- 
ness of  the  Great  Stone  Face  had  appeared  upon  the  broad 
shoulders  of  a  certain  eminent  statesman.  He,  like  Mr.  Gather- 
gold  and  Old  Blood-and-Thunder,  was  a  native  of  the  valley,  but 
had  left  it  in  his  early  days,  and  taken  up  the  trades  of  law  and 
politics.  Instead  of  the  rich  man's  wealth  and  the  warrior's 
sword  he  had  but  a  tongue,  and  it  was  mightier  than  both  to- 
gether. So  wonderfully  eloquent  was  he  that,  whatever  he  might 
choose  to  say,  his  hearers  had  no  choice  but  to  believe  him ;  wrong 
looked  like  right,  and  right  like  wrong.  His  voice,  indeed,  was  a 
magic  instrument:  sometimes  it  rumbled  like  the  thunder;  some- 
times it  warbled  like  the  sweetest  music.  In  good  truth,  he  was 
a  wondrous  man ;  and  when  his  tongue  had  acquired  him  all  other 
imaginable  success, — when  it  had  been  heard  in  halls  of  state 
and  in  the  courts  of  princes, — after  it  had  made  him  known  all 
over  the  world,  even  as  a  voice  crying  from  shore  to  shore. — it 
finally  persuaded  his  countrymen  to  select  him  for  the  presidency. 


THE  GREAT   STONE   FACE  119 

Before  this  time, — indeed,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  grow  celebrated, 
— his  admirers  had  found  out  the  resemblance  between  him  and 
the  Great  Stone  Face;  and  so  much  were  they  struck  by  it  that 
throughout  the  country  this  distinguished  gentleman  was  known 
by  the  name  of  Old  Stony  Phiz. 

While  his  friends  were  doing  their  best  to  make  him  president, 
Old  Stony  Phiz,  as  he  was  called,  set  out  on  a  visit  to  the  valley 
where  he  was  born.  Of  course  he  had  no  other  object  than  to 
shake  hands  with  his  fellow-citizens,  and  neither  thought  nor 
cared  about  any  effect  which  his  progress  through  the  country 
might  have  upon  the  election.  Magnificent  preparations  were 
made  to  receive  the  illustrious  statesman ;  a  cavalcade  of  horsemen 
set  forth  to  meet  him  at  the  boundary  line  of  the  state,  and  all 
the  people  left  their  business  and  gathered  along  the  way  to  see 
him  pass.  Among  these  was  Ernest.  Though  more  than  once 
disappointed,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  such  a  hopeful  and  confid- 
ing nature  that  he  was  always  ready  to  believe  in  whatever  seemed 
beautiful  and  good.  He  kept  his  heart  continually  open,  and 
thus  was  sure  to  catch  the  blessing  from  on  high,  when  it  should 
come.  So  now  again,  as  buoyantly  as  ever,  he  went  forth  to  be- 
hold the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face. 

The  cavalcade  came  prancing  along  the  road,  with  a  great  clat- 
tering of  hoofs  and  a  mighty  cloud  of  dust,  which  rose  up  so 
dense  and  high  that  the  visage  of  the  mountain  side  was  com- 
pletely hidden  from  Ernest's  eyes.  All  the  great  men  of  the 
neighborhood  were  there  on  horseback :  militia  officers  in  uniform ; 
the  member  of  Congress ;  the  sheriff  of  the  county ;  the  editors  of 
newspapers;  and  many  a  farmer,  too,  had  mounted  his  patient 
steed,  with  his  Sunday  coat  upon  his  back.  It  really  was  a  very 
brilliant  spectacle,  especially  as  there  were  numerous  banners 
flaunting  over  the  cavalcade,  on  some  of  which  were  gorgeous 
portraits  of  the  illustrious  statesman  and  the  Great  Stone  Face, 
smiling  familiarly  at  one  another  like  two  brothers.  If  the  pic- 
tures were  to  be  trusted,  the  resemblance,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  marvelous.  We  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  there  was  a 
band  of  music,  which  made  the  echoes  of  the  mountains  ring  with 
the  loud  triumph  of  its  strains,  so  that  airy  and  soul-thrilling 


120  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

melodies  broke  out  among  all  the  heights  and  hollows,  as  if  every 
nook  of  his  native  valley  had  found  a  voice  to  welcome  the  dis- 
tinguished guest.  But  the  grandest  effect  was  when  the  far-off 
mountain  precipice  flung  back  the  music;  for  then  the  Great 
Stone  Face  itself  seemed  to  be  swelling  the  triumphant  chorus,  in 
acknowledgment  that,  at  length,  the  man  of  prophecy  was  come. 

All  this  while  the  people  were  throwing  up  their  hats  and  shout- 
ing with  such  enthusiasm  that  the  heart  of  Ernest  kindled  up, 
and  he  likewise  threw  up  his  hat  and  shouted  as  loudly  as  the 
loudest,  "  Huzza  for  the  great  man !  Huzza  for  Old  Stony 
Phiz !  "  But  as  yet  he  had  not  seen  him. 

"  Here  he  is  now ! "  cried  those  who  stood  near  Ernest. 
"  There!  There!  Look  at  Old  Stony  Phiz  and  then  at  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountain,  and  see  if  they  are  not  as  like  as  two  twin 
brothers ! " 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  gallant  array  came  an  open  barouche, 
drawn  by  four  white  horses ;  and  in  the  barouche,  with  his  massive 
head  uncovered,  sat  the  illustrious  statesman,  Old  Stony  Phiz 
himself. 

"  Confess  it,"  said  one  of  Ernest's  neighbors  to  him,  "  the 
Great  Stone  Face  has  met  its  match  at  last ! n 

Now,  it  must  be  owned  that,  at  his  first  glimpse  of  the  counte- 
nance which  was  bowing  and  smiling  from  the  barouche,  Ernest 
did  fancy  that  there  was  a  resemblance  between  it  and  the  old 
familiar  face  upon  the  mountain  side.  The  brow,  with  its  mas- 
sive depth  and  loftiness,  and  all  the  other  features,  indeed,  were 
bold  and  strong.  But  the  grand  expression  of  a  divine  sympathy 
that  illuminated  the  mountain  visage  might  here  be  sought  in 
vain.  Something  had  been  originally  left  out,  or  had  departed. 

Still  Ernest's  neighbor  was  thrusting  his  elbow  into  his  side, 
and  pressing  him  for  an  answer. 

"  Confess !  Confess !  Is  not  he  the  very  picture  of  your  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountain?" 

"  No !  "  said  Ernest,  bluntly,  "  I  see  little  or  no  likeness." 

"  Then  so  much  the  worse  for  the  Great  Stone  Face !  "  answered 
his  neighbor.  And  again  he  set  up  a  shout  for  Old  Stony  Phiz. 

But  Ernest  turned  away,  melancholy,  and  almost  despondent: 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  121 

for  this  was  the  saddest  of  his  disappointments,  to  behold  a  man 
who  might  have  fulfilled  the  prophecy,  and  had  not  willed  to  do 
so.  Meantime,  the  cavalcade,  the  banners,  the  music,  and  the 
barouches  swept  past  him,  with  the  shouting  crowd  in  the  rear, 
leaving  the  dust  to  settle  down,  and  the  Great  Stone  Face  to  be 
revealed  again,  with  the  grandeur  that  it  had  worn  for  untold 
centuries. 

"  Lo,  here  I  am,  Ernest !  "  the  benign  lips  seemed  to  say.  "  I 
have  waited  longer  than  thou,  and  am  not  yet  weary.  Fear  not; 
the  man  will  come." 

The  years  hurried  onward,  treading  in  their  haste  on  one  an- 
other's heels.  And  now  they  began  to  bring  white  hairs  and 
scatter  them  over  the  head  of  Ernest;  they  made  wrinkles  across 
his  forehead  and  furrows  in  his  cheeks.  He  was  an  aged  man. 
But  not  in  vain  had  he  grown  old;  more  than  the  white  hairs  on 
his  head  were  the  wise  thoughts  in  his  mind.  And  Ernest  had 
ceased  to  be  obscure.  Unsought  for,  undesired,  had  come  the 
fame  which  so  many  seek,  and  made  him  known  in  the  great 
world,  beyond  the  limits  of  the  valley  in  which  he  had  dwelt  so 
quietly.  College  professors,  and  even  the  active  men  of  cities, 
came  from  far  to  see  and  converse  with  Ernest;  for  the  report 
had  gone  abroad  that  this  simple  farmer  had  ideas  unlike  those 
of  other  men,  and  a  tranquil  majesty  as  if  he  had  been  talking 
with  the  angels  as  his  daily  friends.  Ernest  received  these  visi- 
tors with  the  gentle  sincerity  that  had  marked  him  from  boyhood, 
and  spoke  freely  with  them  of  whatever  came  uppermost,  or  lay 
deepest  in  his  heart  or  their  own.  While  they  talked  together, 
his  face  would  kindle  and  shine  upon  them,  as  with  a  mild  even- 
ing light.  When  his  guests  took  leave  and  went  their  way,  and 
passing  up  the  valley,  paused  to  look  at  the  Great  Stone  Face, 
they  imagined  that  they  had  seen  its  likeness  in  a  human  counte- 
nance, but  could  not  remember  where. 

While  Ernest  had  been  growing  up  and  growing  old,  a  bountiful 
Providence  had  granted  a  new  poet  to  this  earth.  He,  likewise, 
was  a  native  of  the  valley,  but  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 
life  at  a  distance  from  that  romantic  region,  pouring  out  his 
sweet  music  amid  the  bustle  and  din  of  cities.  Often,  however, 


122  UTERATUBB  IN  THE  SCHOOL 

did  the  mountains  which  had  been  familiar  to  him  in  his  child- 
hood lift  their  snowy  peaks  into  the  clear  atmosphere  of  his  poe- 
try. Neither  was  the  Great  Stone  Face  forgotten,  for  he  had 
celebrated  it  in  a  poem  which  was  grand  enough  to  have  been 
uttered  by  its  own  majestic  lips. 

The  songs  of  this  poet  found  their  way  to  Ernest.  He  read 
them  after  his  customary  toil,  seated  on  the  bench  before  his  cot- 
tage door,  where  for  such  a  length  of  time  he  had  filled  his  repose 
with  thought,  by  gazing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face.  And  now  as  he 
read  stanzas  that  caused  the  soul  to  thrill  within  him,  he  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  vast  countenance  beaming  on  him  so  benignantly. 

"  0  majestic  friend,"  he  murmured,  addressing  the  Great  Stone 
Face,  "  is  not  this  man  worthy  to  resemble  thee?  " 

The  Face  seemed  to  smile,  but  answered  not  a  word. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  poet,  though  he  dwelt  so  far  away, 
had  not  only  heard  of  Ernest,  but  had  meditated  much  upon  his 
character,  until  he  deemed  nothing  so  desirable  as  to  meet  this 
man  whose  untaught  wisdom  walked  hand  in  hand  with  the  noble 
simplicity  of  his  life.  One  summer  morning,  therefore,  he  took 
passage  by  the  railroad,  and,  in  the  decline  of  the  afternoon, 
alighted  from  the  cars  at  no  great  distance  from  Ernest's  cot- 
tage. The  great  hotel,  which  had  formerly  been  the  palace  of  Mr. 
Gathergold,  was  close  at  hand,  but  the  poet,  with  his  carpetbag 
on  his  arm,  inquired  at  once  where  Ernest  dwelt,  and  was  resolved 
to  be  accepted  as  his  guest. 

Approaching  the  door,  he  there  found  the  good  old  man,  hold- 
ing a  volume  in  his  hand,  which  he  read,  and  then,  with  a  finger 
between  the  leaves,  looked  lovingly  at  the  Great  Stone  Face. 

"Good  evening,"  said  the  poet.  "  Can  you  give  a  traveler  a 
night's  lodging?" 

"  Willingly,"  answered  Ernest.  And  then  added,  smiling,  "  Me- 
thinks  I  never  saw  the  Great  Stone  Face  look  so  hospitably  at  a 
stranger." 

The  poet  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  him,  and  he  and  Ernest 
talked  together.  Often  had  the  poet  conversed  with  the  wittiest 
and  the  wisest,  but  never  before  with  a  man  like  Ernest,  whose 
thoughts  and  feelings  gushed  up  with  such  a  natural  freedom, 


THE   GKEAT   STONE   FACE  123 

and  who  made  great  truths  so  familiar  by  his  simple  utterance  of 
them.  Angels,  as  had  been  so  often  said,  seemed  to  have  wrought 
with  him  at  his  labor  in  the  fields;  angels  seemed  to  have  sat  with 
him  by  the  fireside.  So  thought  the  poet.  And  Ernest,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  moved  by  the  living  images  which  the  poet  flung 
out  of  his  mind,  and  which  peopled  all  the  air  about  the  cottage 
door  with  shapes  of  beauty. 

As  Ernest  listened  to  the  poet,  he  imagined  that  the  Great  Stone 
Face  was  bending  forward  to  listen  too.  He  gazed  earnestly  into 
the  poet's  glowing  eyes. 

"Who  are  you,  my  strangely  gifted  guest?"  he  said. 

The  poet  laid  his  finger  on  the  volume  that  Ernest  had  been 
reading. 

"  You  have  read  these  poems,"  said  he.  "  You  know  me,  then, 
— for  I  wrote  them." 

Again,  and  still  more  earnestly  than  before,  Ernest  examined 
the  poet's  features;  then  turned  to  the  Great  Stone  Face;  then 
back  to  his  guest.  But  his  countenance  fell;  he  shook  his  head, 
and  sighed. 

"  Wherefore  are  you  sad  ?  "  inquired  the  poet. 

"  Because,"  replied  Ernest,  "  all  through  life  I  have  awaited  the 
fulfillment  of  a  prophecy;  and  when  I  read  these  poems,  I  hoped 
that  it  might  be  fulfilled  in  you." 

"  You  hoped,"  answered  the  poet,  faintly  smiling,  "  to  find  in 
me  the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face.  And  you  are  disap- 
pointed, as  formerly  with  Mr.  Gathergold,  and  Old  Blood-and- 
Thunder,  and  Old  Stony  Phiz.  Yes,  Ernest,  it  is  my  doom.  You 
must  add  my  name  to  the  illustrious  three,  and  record  another 
failure  of  ;  our  hopes.  For — in  shame  and  sadness  do  I  speak 
it,  Ernest — I  am  not  worthy." 

"  And  why?  "  asked  Ernest.  He  pointed  to  the  volume.  "  Are 
not  those  thoughts  divine  ?  " 

"  You  can  hear  in  them  the  far-off  echo  of  a  heavenly  song," 
replied  the  poet.  "  But  my  life,  dear  Ernest,  has  not  corre- 
sponded with  my  thought.  I  have  had  grand  dreams,  but  they 
have  been  only  dreams,  because  I  have  lived — and  that,  too,  by 
my  own  choice — among  poor  and  mean  realities.  Sometimes  even 


124  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

— shall  I  dare  to  say  it  f — I  lack  faith  in  the  grandeur,  the  beauty, 
and  the  goodness  which  ray  own  works  are  said  to  have  made 
more  evident  in  nature  and  in  human  life.  Why,  then,  pure 
seeker  of  the  good  and  true,  shouldst  thou  hope  to  find  me  in 
yonder  image  of  the  divine  ?" 

The  poet  spoke  sadly,  and  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears.  So, 
likewise,  were  those  of  Ernest. 

At  the  hour  of  sunset,  as  had  long  been  his  frequent  custom, 
Ernest  was  to  speak  to  an  assemblage  of  the  neighboring  inhabi- 
tants in  the  open  air.  He  and  the  poet,  arm  in  arm,  still  talking 
together  as  they  went  along,  proceeded  to  the  spot.  It  was  a 
small  nook  among  the  hills,  with  a  gray  precipice  behind,  the 
stern  front  of  which  was  relieved  by  the  pleasant  foliage  of  many 
creeping  plants,  that  made  a  tapestry  for  the  naked  rock  by  hang- 
ing their  festoons  from  all  its  rugged  angles.  At  a  small  eleva- 
tion above  the  ground,  set  in  a  rich  framework  of  verdure,  there 
appeared  a  niche,  spacious  enough  to  admit  a  human  figure.  Into 
this  natural  pulpit  Ernest  ascended  and  threw  a  look  of  familiar 
kindness  around  upon  his  audience.  They  stood,  or  sat,  or  re- 
clined upon  the  grass,  as  seemed  good  to  each,  with  the  depart- 
ing sunshine  falling  over  them.  In  another  direction  was  seen  the 
Great  Stone  Face,  with  the  same  cheer,  combined  with  the  same 
solemnity,  in  its  benignant  aspect. 

Ernest  began  to  speak,  giving  to  the  people  of  what  was  in  his 
heart  and  mind.  His  words  had  power,  because  they  accorded 
with  his  thoughts;  and  his  thoughts  had  reality  and  depth,  be- 
cause they  harmonized  with  the  life  which  he  had  always  lived. 
The  poet,  as  he  listened,  felt  that  the  being  and  character  of 
Ernest  were  a  nobler  strain  of  poetry  than  he  had  ever  written. 
His  eyes  glistening  with  tears,  he  gazed  reverentially  at  the  ven- 
erable man,  and  said  within  himself  that  never  was  there  an 
aspect  so  worthy  of  a  prophet  and  a  sage  as  that  mild,  sweet, 
thoughtful  countenance  with  the  glory  of  white  hair  diffused 
about  it.  At  a  distance,  high  up  in  the  golden  light  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  appeared  the  Great  Stone  Face,  with  hoary  mists  around 
it,  like  the  white  hairs  around  the  brow  of  Ernest.  Its  look  of 
grand  beneficence  seemed  to  embrace  the  world. 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  125 


At  that  moment,  in  sympathy  with  a  thought  which  he 
about  to  utter,  the  face  of  Ernest  assumed  a  grandeur  of  ex- 
pression, so  full  of  benevolence,  that  the  poet,  by  an  irresistible 
impulse,  threw  his  arms  aloft,  and  shouted: 

"  Behold !  Behold !  Ernest  is  himself  the  likeness  of  the  Great 
Stone  Face ! " 

Then  all  the  people  looked  and  saw  that  what  the  deep-sighted 
poet  said  was  true.  The  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  But  Ernest, 
having  finished  what  he  had  to  say,  took  the  poet's  arm,  and 
walked  slowly  homeward,  still  hoping  that  some  wiser  and  better 
man  than  himself  would  by  and  by  appear,  bearing  a  resemblance 
to  the  Great  Stone  Face. 

—Nathaniel  Hawthorne:  "Twice-Told  Tales." 

Thought  Analysis: 

The  prose-poet  introduces  the  subject  of  his  theme  by 
picturing  a  mother  and  her  little  boy  sitting  at  the  door  of 
their  cottage,  at  sunset,  talking  about  the  Great  Stone 
Face  which  was  "  plainly  to  be  seen,  though  miles  away, 
with  the  sunshine  brightening  all  of  its  features." 

Note  should  be  made  of  the  fact  that  the  Great  Stone 
Face  is  named  and  held  before  the  mind  by  the  description 
which  follows,  while  the  mother  and  her  little  boy  as  per- 
sons are  merely  mentioned  incidentally.  Thus  the  Great 
Stone  Face  is  made  the  dominant  influence  in  the  picture. 
This  dominance  is  further  accentuated  by  the  reference  to 
the  influence  upon  children  who  grew  up  in  its  pres- 
ence and  to  the  sublime  qualities  of  character  attributed 
to  it. 

After  thus  making  dominant  the  Great  Stone  Face,  the 
attention  is  directed  to  the  opening  scene.  Through  the 
remark:  "The  child's  name  was  Ernest,"  and  in  the  con- 
versation between  mother  and  child  which  follows,  the  at- 
tention is  centered  upon  Ernest.  In  the  smile  of  the  Ti- 


126  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

tanic  visage  and  the  response  of  Ernest,  there  is  borne  in 
upon  consciousness  the  fact  that  the  theme  has  to  do  with 
these  two  as  central  figures. 

Through  the  remark  of  Ernest :  1 1  If  I  were  to  see  a  man 
with  such  a  face  I  should  love  him  dearly/*  and  in  the 
reply  of  the  mother:  "If  an  old  prophecy  should  come  to 
pass,  we  may  see  a  man  some  time  or  other,  with  exactly 
such  a  face  as  that,"  the  movement  toward  the  ideal  is 
made  possible.  The  fact  is  thus  revealed  that  the  story  has 
to  do  with  things  that  are  to  be. 

Note  the  prophecy  carefully — its  age,  its  influence  as  an 
unrealized  ideal,  its  promise  of  things  to  be.  Note  the 
effect  of  the  prophecy  upon  Ernest,  the  attitude  of  the 
mother.  Note  the  significance  of: 

"  And  Ernest  never  forgot  the  story  that  his  mother  told  him. 
It  was  always  in  his  mind  whenever  he  looked  upon  the  Great 
Stone  Face." 

The  problem  is  now  set.  "Will  Ernest  live  to  see  the  per- 
son who  will  resemble  the  Great  Stone  Face?  By  what 
standard  will  Ernest  measure  him?  Will  the  others  also 
recognize  him  and  estimate  him  by  the  same  standards? 

Note  the  influence  the  Great  Stone  Face  as  an  ideal  had 
upon  Ernest: 

"  He  assisted  his  mother  much  with  his  little  hands  and  more 
with  his  loving  heart.  He  grew  from  a  happy  yet  thoughtful 
child  to  be  a  mild,  quiet,  modest  boy,  with  more  intelligence  in  his 
face  than  is  seen  in  many  lads  who  have  been  taught  in  famous 
schools.  Yet  Ernest  had  no  teacher  save  only  that  the  Great 
Stone  Face  became  one  to  him.  The  secret  was  that  the  boy's 
tender  simplicity  discerned  what  other  people  could  not  see;  and 
thus  the  love,  which  was  meant  for  all,  became  his  alone." 

This  differentiation  from  other  people  records  the  un- 
conscious growth  toward  an  ideal. 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  127 

These  facts  all  bear  witness  to  the  silent  but  potent  influ- 
ences of  a  contemplated  ideal. 

The  second  step  in  the  development  of  the  theme  is 
through  various  tests  to  determine  whether  Ernest  will  rec- 
ognize and  be  loyal  to  the  ideal  when  it  is  beset  by  sordid, 
worldly  resemblances. 

The  first  test  is  through  wealth  as  an  ideal  in  the  person 
of  Gathergold;  the  second  through  military  fame  in  the 
person  of  Old  Blood-and-Thunder ;  the  third  through  ora- 
tory and  statesmanship  in  the  person  of  Old  Stony  Phiz; 
and  the  fourth  through  the  man  of  insight,  feeling  and  emo- 
tion, the  poet.  The  first  is  the  test  of  boyhood;  the  second 
of  youth  or  young  manhood ;  the  third  of  middle  age,  and 
the  fourth  of  old  age. 

In  the  study  of  Gathergold,  image  conditions  clearly  and 
note  the  difference  in  ideals  between  Ernest  and  the  un- 
thinking multitudes. 

"  The  people  bellowed :  '  He  is  the  very  image  of  the  Great 
Stone  Face ! ' 

"But  Ernest  turned  sadly  from  the  wrinkled  shrewdness  of 
that  visage  and  gazed  upon  the  valley  where  he  could  still  distin- 
guish those  glorious  features  which  had  impressed  themselves  into 
his  soul.  Their  aspect  cheered  him.  The  benign  lips  seemed  to 
say: 

" '  He  will  come !    Fear  not,  Ernest,  the  man  will  come/  " 

Ernest  had  penetrated  the  glamor  and  superficiality  and 
vulgarity  of  mere  wealth  and  had  discerned  the  larger  and 
more  worthy  ideal  which  the  people  contemplated  not. 

This  a  study  of  Ernest  the  boy.  In  boyhood  he  holds 
true  to  the  ideal. 

"  The  years  went  on  and  Ernest  ceased  to  be  a  boy.  He  had 
grown  to  be  a  young  man  now.  He  still  loved  to  go  apart,  and 
gaze  and  meditate  on  the  Great  Stone  Face.  It  was  a  pardonable 


128  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

folly,  for  Ernest  was  industrious,  kind  and  neighborly,  and  neg- 
lected no  duty  for  the  sake  of  this  idle  habit.  The  Great  Stone 
Face  had  become  a  teacher  to  him." 

The  author  estimates  the  influence  and  worth  of  such  a 
teacher  in  his  remark,  speaking  of  the  other  people  of  the 
valley : 

"  They  knew  not  that  the  sentiment  which  was  expressed  in  it 
(the  Great  Stone  Face),  would  enlarge  the  young  man's  heart  and 
fill  it  with  wider  and  deeper  sympathies  than  other  hearts.  They 
knew  not  that  thence  would  come  a  better  wisdom  than  could  be 
learned  from  books,  and  a  better  life  than  could  be  molded  on 
the  example  of  other  human  lives." 

In  this  comment  the  author  hints  of  the  coming  power 
and  worth  of  Ernest — his  growth  toward  the  ideal.  But 
he  assures  us  that  Ernest  was  not  conscious  of  the  tran- 
sition. 

"Neither  did  Ernest  know  that  the  thoughts  and  affections 
which  came  to  him  so  naturally,  in  the  field  and  at  the  fireside, 
were  of  a  higher  tone  than  those  which  all  men  shared  with  him." 

Image  clearly  the  conditions  pertaining  to  Old  Blood- 
and-Thunder,  through  whom  the  second  test  was  made. 

Note  the  transition  in  thought  at  the  close  of  this  study. 
As  the  deep  gaze  of  Ernest  penetrated  the  external,  he 
sighed  and  said: 

"  This  is  not  the  man  of  prophecy.  And  must  the  world  wait 
longer  yet?  " 

This  time,  as  he  turned  his  gaze  through  the  mists  to  the 
" grand  and  awful  features  of  the  Great  Stone  Face/'  hope 
was  rekindled  by  the  smile  that  beamed  over  the  whole 
visage.  But  this  time  the  voice  spoke  from  within.  Some- 
thing had  passed  from  the  Great  Stone  Face  to  Ernest. 


THE   GEEAT   STONE   FACE  129 

"'Fear  not,  Ernest/  said  his  heart  even  as  if  the  Great  Stone 
Face  were  whispering  to  him — '  fear  not,  Ernest.'  " 

In  the  test  of  youth  Ernest  rings  true  to  the  ideal. 

In  the  introduction  to  the  study  of  Old  Stony  Phiz  the 
author  makes  a  nearer  approach  to  the  central  idea  of  his 
unfolding  theme  as  he  pictures  the  result  of  the  persistent 
contemplation  of  the  ideal  as  follows: 

"More  years  sped  swiftly  and  tranquilly  away.  Ernest  still 
dwelt  in  his  native  valley,  and  was  now  a  man  of  middle  age.  By 
slow  degrees  he  had  become  known  among  the  people.  Now,  as 
heretofore,  he  labored  for  his  bread,  and  was  the  same  simple- 
hearted  man  he  had  always  been.  But  he  had  thought  and  felt 
so  much,  he  had  given  so  many  of  the  best  hours  of  his  life  to 
unworldly  hopes  for  some  great  good  to  mankind,  that  it  seemed 
as  though  he  had  been  talking  with  the  angels,  and  had  imbibed 
a  portion  of  their  wisdom  unawares.  It  was  visible  in  the  calm 
beneficence  of  his  daily  life,  the  quiet  stream  of  which  had 
made  a  wide,  green  margin  all  along  its  course.  Not  a  day 
passed  by  that  the  world  was  not  the  better  because  this  man, 
humble  as  he  was,  had  lived.  He  never  stepped  aside  from  his 
own  path,  yet  would  always  reach  a  blessing  to  his  neighbor. 
Almost  involuntarily,  too,  he  had  become  a  preacher.  The  pure 
and  high  simplicity  of  his  thought,  which  took  shape  in  the  good 
deeds  that  dropped  silently  from  his  hand,  flowed  also  forth  in 
speech.  He  uttered  truths  that  molded  the  lives  of  those  who 
heard  him.  His  hearers,  it  may  be,  never  suspected  that  Ernest, 
their  own  neighbor  and  familiar  friend,  was  more  than  an  ordi- 
nary man ;  least  of  all  did  Ernest  himself  suspect  it ;  but  thoughts 
came  out  of  his  mouth  that  no  other  human  lips  had  spoken." 

This  emphasis  on  the  character  and  work  and  worth  of 
Ernest  turns  the  mind  to  Ernest  and  endows  him  with  some 
attributes  hinted  at  as  belonging  to  the  Great  Stone  Face. 
This  emphasis  on  the  character  and  endowments  of  Ernest 
prepares  the  mind  for  the  revealment  which  is  to  be  the 
climax  of  the  unfolding  theme. 


130  UTERATUBE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

In  contemplating  Old  Stony  Phiz,  Ernest  looked  through 
the  actual  to  the  possible. 

"  He  fancied  there  was  a  resemblance  between  the  face  of  Old 
Stony  Phiz  and  the  old  familiar  face  upon  the  mountain  side. 
The  brow  with  its  massive  depth  and  loftiness,  and  all  of  the  other 
features,  indeed,  were  bold  and  strong." 

But  when  he  had  concentrated  his  gaze  upon  the  actual, 

"  he  looked  in  vain  for  the  grand  expression  of  divine  sympathy 
that  illuminated  the  mountain  visage.  Something  had  been  origi- 
nally left  out  or  had  departed. 

"  Ernest  turned  away,  melancholy  and  almost  despondent,  for 
this  was  the  saddest  of  his  disappointments,  to  behold  a  man  who 
might  have  fulfilled  the  prophecy,  and  had  not  willed  to  do  so." 

Here  Ernest  feels  the  tension  between  the  real,  the  ac- 
tual, as  embodied  in  Old  Stony  Phiz,  and  the  ideal,  the 
possible.  He  hints,  too,  that  only  through  conscious  choice 
and  purposed  action  can  the  individual  move  from  the 
actual  to  the  possible,  from  the  real  to  the  ideal. 

After  the  cavalcade  and  shouting  throng  had  swept  past, 
Ernest  found  himself  alone  with  his  ideal. 

"  The  Great  Stone  Face  was  revealed  again  with  the  grandeur 
that  it  had  worn  for  untold  centuries." 

An  undimmed  and  untarnished  ideal  f 

"'Lo  here  I  am,  Ernest/  the  benign  lips  seemed  to  say.  'I 
have  waited  longer  than  thou  and  am  not  yet  weary.  Fear  not, 
the  man  will  come.' " 

In  the  test  of  middle  age  Ernest  still  holds  true  to  his 
ideal. 

In  the  following  paragraph  are  recorded  changes  in 
Ernest  corresponding  to  and  in  harmony  with  the  chang- 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  131 

ing  years.    Here,  too,  is  mirrored  the  fact  of  Ernest's  ap- 
proach to  and  identification  with  the  ideal. 

"  The  years  hurried  onward,  treading  in  their  haste  on  one  an- 
other's heels.  And  now  they  began  to  bring  white  hairs  and 
scatter  them  over  the  head  of  Ernest;  they  made  wrinkles  across 
his  forehead  and  furrows  in  his  cheeks.  He  was  an  aged  man. 
But  not  in  vain  had  he  grown  old;  more  than  the  white  hairs  on 
his  head  were  the  wise  thoughts  in  his  mind.  And  Ernest  had 
ceased  to  be  obscure.  Unsought  for,  undesired,  had  come  the 
fame  which  so  many  seek,  and  made  him  known  in  the  great  world, 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  valley  in  which  he  had  dwelt  so  quietly. 
College  professors,  and  even  the  active  men  of  cities  came  from 
far  to  see  and  converse  with  Ernest;  for  the  report  had  gone 
abroad  that  this  simple  farmer  had  ideas  unlike  those  of  other 
men,  and  a  tranquil  majesty  as  if  he  had  been  talking  with  the 
angels  as  his  daily  friends.  Ernest  received  these  visitors  with 
the  gentle  sincerity  that  had  marked  him  from  boyhood,  and  spoke 
freely  with  them  of  whatever  came  uppermost,  or  lay  deepest  in 
his  heart  or  their  own.  While  they  talked  together,  his  face  would 
kindle  and  shine  upon  them  as  with  a  mild  evening  light.  When 
his  guests  took  leave  and  went  their  way,  and  passing  up  the 
valley  paused  to  look  at  the  Great  Stone  Face,  they  imagined  that 
they  had  seen  its  likeness  in  a  human  countenance,  but  could  not 
remember  where." 

The  final  test  was  through  the  poet  and  his  songs.  As 
he  read  the  stanzas  that  caused  the  soul  to  thrill  within 
him,  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  vast  countenance  beaming 
upon  him  so  benignantly : 

"'0  majestic  friend/  he  murmured,  addressing  the  Great 
Stone  Face,  'is  not  this  man  worthy  to  resemble  thee?'  The 
Face  seemed  to  smile  but  answered  not  a  word." 

Now  follows  the  deep  desire  of  the  poet,  the  man  of  in- 
sight, to  meet  this  man,  Ernest,  "  whose  untaught  wisdom 
walked  hand  in  hand  with  the  noble  simplicity  of  his  life. ' ' 


132  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

The  bond  of  mutual  sympathy  and  admiration  between 
the  men  of  deep  feeling  and  conviction  is  beautifully  ex- 
pressed by  the  author: 

"  Often  had  the  poet  conversed  with  the  wittiest  and  the  wis- 
est, hut  never  before  with  a  man  like  Ernest,  whose  thoughts  and 
feelings  gushed  up  with  such  a  natural  freedom,  and  who  made 
great  truths  so  familiar  by  his  simple  utterance  of  them.  Angels, 
as  had  been  so  often  said,  seemed  to  have  wrought  with  him  at  his 
labor  in  the  fields;  angels  seemed  to  have  sat  with  him  by  the 
fireside. 

"  So  thought  the  poet. 

"  Ernest,  on  the  other  hand,  was  moved  by  the  living  images 
which  the  poet  flung  out  of  his  mind,  and  which  peopled  all  the 
air  about  the  cottage  door  with  shapes  of  beauty/' 

Ernest  listened  to  the  conversation  of  the  poet,  studied 
his  countenance,  then  turned  to  his  ideal,  the  Great  Stone 
Face,  and  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  The  real  and  the 
ideal  were  not  yet  at  one. 

The  meeting  of  the  man  of  poetic  insight  and  Ernest 
paved  the  way  for  the  final  movement  in  the  development 
of  the  theme — the  revealment.  All  the  necessary  condi- 
tions had  been  made,  and  there  remained  but  for  the  man 
of  discernment  to  proclaim  the  resemblance  of  Ernest  to 
the  Great  Stone  Face,  the  identity  of  the  real  and  the  ideal. 

Picture  clearly  the  background  of  nature,  the  natural 
pulpit  and  setting,  the  assembled  multitude,  the  glory  of 
the  departing  sunshine,  the  solemnity  and  grandeur  of  the 
Great  Stone  Face. 

"  Ernest  began  to  speak  of  what  was  in  his  heart  and  mind. 
His  words  had  power  because  they  accorded  with  his  thoughts; 
and  his  thoughts  had  reality  and  depth  because  they  harmo- 
nized with  the  life  which  he  had  always  lived.  The  poet  as 
he  listened  felt  that  the  being  and  character  of  Ernest  were  a 


THE   GREAT   STONE   FACE  133 

nobler  strain  of  poetry  than  he  had  ever  written.  His  eyes  glis- 
tened with  tears,  he  gazed  reverentially  at  the  venerable  man,  and 
said  within  himself  that  never  was  there  an  aspect  so  worthy  of 
a  prophet  and  a  sage  as  that  mild,  sweet,  thoughtful  countenance 
with  the  glory  of  white  hair  diffused  about  it." 

With  climactic  effect  the  author  directs  the  attention  to 
the  Great  Stone  Face  lit  up  by  the  fading  glory  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  with  the  hoary  mists  about  its  head  like  the 
white  hairs  about  the  brows  of  Ernest.  The  real  and  the 
ideal  are  in  juxtaposition ! 

As  Ernest's  face  lighted  up  with  the  thought  and  emo- 
tion which  he  was  about  to  express,  with  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse, the  poet  threw  his  arms  aloft  and  shouted : 

"'Behold!  Behold!  Ernest  is  himself  the  likeness  of  the 
Great  Stone  Face.' 

"  And  all  the  people  looked  and  saw  that  what  the  deep-sighted 
poet  said  was  true." 

The  real  and  the  ideal  were  become  at  one! 

In  all  the  tests  of  boyhood,  youth,  middle  age  and  old 
age,  amid  all  the  clamor  and  confusion  of  shortsightedness 
and  sordid  interests,  Ernest  had  unswervingly  held  to  the 
contemplation  of  a  great  ideal.  By  a  life  devoted  to  the 
ideal,  without  selfishness  and  without  deviation;  by  a  life 
of  high  thinking  and  worthy  action ;  by  sympathy  and  love 
and  kindness,  the  great  ideal  had  been  attained ;  the  is  and 
the  ought-to-be  had  been  harmonized;  the  real  and  the 
ideal  had  become  at  one. 

But  true  to  his  beautiful  and  childlike  simplicity  to  the 
last, 

"  Ernest  still  hoped  that  some  wiser  and  better  man  than  him- 
self would  by  and  by  appear,  bearing  a  resemblance  to  the 
GREAT  STONE  FACE." 


134  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Thus  is  taught  the  great  lesson  of  life.  Men  and  nations 
are  as  their  ideals  are.  Both  become  what  they  will  to  be- 
come. By  worthy  contemplation  and  noble  thinking;  by 
virtuous  acting  and  the  harmonizing  of  thought  and  act, 
are  worthy  ideals  of  life  achieved,  do  the  real  and  the 
ideal  become  at  one. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TYPE  STUDIES 

NATHAN  HALE 

To  drum-beat  and  heart-beat, 

A  soldier  inarches  by; 
There  is  color  in  his  cheek, 

There  is  courage  in  his  eye, 
Yet  to  drum-beat  and  heart-beat 

In  a  moment  he  must  die. 

By  starlight  and  moonlight 
He  seeks  the  Briton's  camp; 

He  hears  the  rustling  flag, 
And  the  armed  sentry's  tramp; 

And  the  starlight  and  moonlight 
His  silent  wanderings  lamp. 

With  slow  tread  and  still  tread 
He  scans  the  tented  line; 

And  he  counts  the  battery  guns 
By  the  gaunt  and  shadowy  pine; 

And  his  slow  tread  and  still  tread 
Gives  no  warning  sign. 

The  dark  wave,  the  plumed  wave, 
It  meets  his  eager  glance; 

And  it  sparkles  'neath  the  stars 
Like  the  glimmer  of  a  lance; — 

A  dark  wave,  a  plumed  wave, 
On  an  emerald  expanse. 


136  LITEBATUKB  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

A  sharp  clang,  a  steel  clang, 
And  terror  in  the  sound! 

For  the  sentry,  falcon-eyed, 
In  the  camp  a  spy  hath  found: 

With  a  sharp  clang,  a  steel  clang, 
The  patriot  is  bound. 


With  calm  brow,  steady  brow, 

He  listens  to  his  doom; 
In  his  look  there  is  no  fear, 

Nor  a  shadow  trace  of  gloom; 
But  with  calm  brow  and  steady  brow, 

He  robes  him  for  the  tomb. 


In  the  long  night,  the  still  night, 

He  kneels  upon  the  sod; 
And  the  brutal  guards  withhold 

E'en  the  solemn  Word  of  God ! 
In  the  long  night,  the  still  night, 

He  walks  where  Christ  hath  trod. 


'Neath  the  blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn, 

He  dies  upon  the  tree; 
And  he  mourns  that  he  can  lose 

But  one  life  for  liberty: 
And  in  the  blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn, 

His  spirit  wings  are  free. 

But  his  last  words,  his  message  words, 
They  burn,  lest  friendly  eye 

Should  read  how  proud  and  calm 
A  patriot  could  die, 

With  his  last  words,  his  dying  words. 
A  soldier's  battle  cry. 


TYPE   STUDIES  137 

Prom  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf, 

From  monument  and  urn, 
The  sad  of  earth,  the  glad  of  heaven, 

His  tragic  fate  shall  learn; 
And  on  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf 

The  name  of  HALE  shall  burn! 

— Francis  M.  Finch 

Thought  Analysis: 

This  poem  deals  with  ideal  courage,  or  patriotism,  at  its 
highest  and  best.  If  rightly  taught  it  will  teach  ideals  of 
courage,  of  patriotism  and  of  individual  worth.  It  will 
teach  that  the  larger  life  is  not  circumscribed  by  dates  and 
years  nor  the  interests  of  the  temporal  self,  but  that  intens- 
ity and  sublimity  of  life  are  measured  by  the  quantity  and 
quality  of  the  service  of  that  life.  It  may  hint,  too,  that 
in  the  fulness  of  life  through  the  largeness  of  service  the 
highest  and  best  interests  of  self  are  served.  To  stir  the 
emotions  and  imagination;  to  incite  the  intellect  and  move 
the  will ;  to  set  up  new  ideas  and  ideals,  is  the  privilege  of 
the  teacher  in  the  teaching  of  this  simple,  but  great,  poem. 

To  give  zest  and  spirit  to  the  poem  the  teacher,  in  an 
interesting  and  animated  way,  should  picture  the  his- 
torical incidents  which  furnish  data  for  the  theme:  the 
retreat  of  Washington's  army  from  Long  Island — Wash- 
ington 's  desire  for  information  concerning  the  position  and 
strength  of  the  enemy — the  volunteering  of  young  Hale — 
his  capture — condemnation — execution. 

In  the  study  of  the  poem  itself  the  first  stanza  suggests 
the  events  moving  toward  the  culmination  of  the  tragedy : 

"  To  drum-beat  and  heart-beat,"  etc., 

suggest  to  the  imagination  a  fearless  young  soldier,  a  mere 
boy,  with  arms  manacled,  head  erect,  a  grim-visaged  sol- 


138  LITEKATUKE  IN  THE  SCHOOL, 

dier  of  England  on  either  hand.  In  front,  the  drummers 
tattoo  the  death-march  on  muffled  drums.  Behind  him  is 
a  platoon  of  British  soldiers  with  bayonets  fixed  and  mus- 
kets in  position; — all  move  with  solemn,  measured  tread, 
and  unfaltering  step  toward  the  fatal  noose  that  dangles 
from  the  gnarled  limb  of  an  old  tree.  The  grim  tragedy 
of  this  moving  picture  is  intensified  by  the  poet  by  his  ref- 
erence to  the  "blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn/'  with  their 
silent  appeal  to  the  joyous  activity  of  mere  living. 

"To  drum-beat  and  heart-beat 
A  soldier  marches  by." 

The  drum-beat,  breaking  the  Sabbath  stillness,  beats  in 
on  the  brain  of  the  boy  the  nearness  of  approaching  death, 
grim,  pitiless,  irresistible.  This  is  a  situation  which  might 
well  appall  the  stoutest  heart  and  blanch  the  sternest  vet- 
eran's cheek,  yet 

"  There  is  color  in  his  cheek, 
There  is  courage  in  his  eye." 

Whence  came  this  sustaining  courage,  this  sublime  self-pos- 
session, at  life 's  tragic  close  ?  When  this  question  has  been 
brought  to  the  mind  of  the  reader,  the  poet  turns  the  atten- 
tion to  the  conditions  under  which  the  dangerous  task  was 
undertaken  and  performed — the  moonlight,  the  starlight, 
the  rustling  flag,  the  sentry's  tramp,  the  slow  tread,  the  still 
tread,  the  tented  line,  the  battery  guns,  the  gaunt  and 
shadowy  pine,  the  eagle-eyed  sentry,  the  capture.  Note 
the  suggestion  here  made  to  the  alertness  and  vigilance  of 
the  trained  soldier.  While  the  spy  makes  no  sound  to  dis- 
turb the  silences,  his  presence  is  betrayed  to  the  veteran  on 
duty  by  the  flitting  lights  and  shadows.  This  alertness  is 
still  further  intensified  by  the  fact  that  the  presence  of  the 
sentinel  is  unknown  to  Hale  until  he  is  suddenly  seized. 


TYPE  STUDIES  139 

"  With  calm  brow,  steady  brow, 
He  listens  to  his  doom." 

The  imagination,  borrowing  its  materials  from  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  customs  of  war,  must  now  picture  the  trial 
scene:  the  judge,  the  officers,  the  prisoner,  the  sentry,  the 
verdict,  the  passing  of  the  sentence,  the  effect  upon  the 
prisoner.  The  wonderful  self-possession  is  mirrored  all 
through  this  stanza: 

"  With  calm  brow,  steady  brow, 

He  listens  to  his  doom; 
In  his  look  there  is  no  fear, 
Nor  a  shadow  trace  of  gloom;" 

That  this  is  no  transient  feeling  assumed  for  the  occasion, 
but  a  reflection  of  the  inner  man,  the  author  assures  us  in 
the  closing  lines  of  the  stanza: 

"With  calm  brow,  steady  brow, 
He  robes  him  for  the  tomb." 

The  next  stanza  pictures  the  last  night  of  life  and  inten- 
sifies still  further  the  heroic  self-possession  and  high  re- 
solve of  the  ill-fated  young  champion  of  a  forlorn  hope. 
This  stanza  deals  with  the  preparation  for  the  death  and 
the  circumstances  surrounding  and  attending  that  prepara- 
tion. Had  the  conditions  been  less  intense  the  test  of 
moral  grandeur  would  have  been  less  perfect.  The  teacher 
should  have  the  readers  picture  all  the  sublimity  and 
pathos  of  that  long  night,  that  still  night,  as  he  knelt  upon 
the  sod.  She  should  bring  out  the  test  of  spiritual  endur- 
ance by  the  denial  of  the  Bible  which  the  youth  had  hoped 
to  lean  on  for  comfort  and  consolation.  She  should  see 
shaping  in  that  night  of  prayer  his  heroic  resolve  to  follow 
the  path  of  duty  regardless,  even  as  the  Master  had  re- 


140  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

solved  in  his  night  of  agony  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane. 
In  all  reverence  there  should  echo  in  the  hearts  of  the 
readers  ' '  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done, ' '  with  all  its  sublim- 
ity and  grandeur. 

With  this  movement  the  poet  turns  the  attention  to  the 
scene  pictured  in  the  first  stanza  and  which  the  developed 
theme  has  fully  explained.  He  anticipates  our  desire  to 
know  whether  the  heroic  resolve  and  sublime  self-possession 
remain  to  the  end,  and  our  satisfaction  and  admiration  are 
complete  when  we  are  assured  that  his  only  regret  is  that  he 
has  but  one  life  to  lose  for  liberty. 

The  teacher  should  emphasize  the  shortsightedness  of  the 
executioners,  who  believed  that  by  destroying  his  last  mes- 
sage, breathing  the  very  spirit  of  patriotism  and  devotion 
to  a  cause,  the  influence  of  the  example  would  be  lessened, 
the  lesson  thus  taught  would  be  lost.  This  action  but 
served  to  intensify  the  feeling  for  the  tragic  consequences 
and  caused  the  poet  to  assure  us  that  a  courage  so  splendid 
in  a  cause  so  just  had  secured  an  earthly  immortality  for 
the  victim  and  the  hero  of  the  tragedy. 

So  far  the  study  has  been  of  an  individual  instance  of 
heroic  courage  sublimely  tested  and  in  every  detail  ring- 
ing true  to  the  test.  It  has  been  a  study  of  ideal  courage 
because  a  mere  boy  volunteered  to  secure  desired  informa- 
tion, regardless  of  the  consequences  to  himself  and  with 
a  full  knowledge  of  the  exactions  of  war  and  of  the  fearful 
risk  which  duty  thus  demanded.  It  has  been  ideal  because 
the  young  man,  cultured,  surrounded  by  friends  and  op- 
portunities, with  the  ambitions  of  youth  and  every  possi- 
bility for  their  realization,  found  life  at  its  highest  and 
best.  It  has  been  ideal  because  at  such  a  time  it  would  be 
most  difficult  to  surrender  life  with  all  of  its  promise  and 
hope  and  assurance.  It  has  been  ideal  because  this  boy,  in 
the  face  of  all  of  these  conditions,  was  willing  to  sacrifice 


TYPE   STUDIES  141 

his  life,  if  need  be,  in  order  that  his  country  might  have 
life  and  have  it  more  abundantly.  This  study  has  been 
worth  while  even  though  the  reader  does  not  rise  above  this 
individual  and  particular  analysis  of  the  poem.  But  are 
there  not  greater  horizons  to  this  poem?  Does  it  not  sug- 
gest a  more  universal  message? 

The  teacher  should  now  cause  the  readers  to  picture 
again  the  historical  setting  of  the  poem.  They  should  feel 
the  strain  and  stress  that  is  on  the  incipient  nation.  They 
should  keenly  feel  the  effect  of  that  strain  and  stress,  not 
only  on  the  men  and  boys,  but  also  upon  the  matrons  and 
maidens.  They  should  critically  ask  themselves  whether, 
in  the  light  of  these  conditions  and  feelings,  it  is  reason- 
able to  assume  that  the  hopes  and  aspirations  and  the  lib- 
erty of  a  people  could  boast  of  but  one  individual  cham- 
pion. Will  it  not  be  more  reasonable  now  to  think  of 
Nathan  Hale  as  typifying  the  attitude  and  purpose  and 
high  resolve  of  young  America?  Is  it  too  much  to  assume 
that  ' '  I  regret  that  I  have  but  one  life  to  lay  down  for  my 
country ' '  is  the  voice  of  young  America,  the  sentiment  and 
feeling  of  the  many  crystallized  in  the  voice  and  the  deed 
of  the  one  ? 

A  higher  but  perfectly  legitimate  step  in  the  universaliz- 
ing process  may  be  taken  by  causing  the  readers  to  note 
carefully  the  attitude  of  young  America  whenever  the 
stress  and  strain  of  conflict  threatened  the  life  of  the  na- 
tion. In  this  intensive  study  of  the  people's  thought  and 
feeling,  Nathan  Hale  will  be  seen  to  typify  all  those  who 
were  willing  to  follow  duty  fearlessly,  regardless  of  the 
consequences,  and  to  sacrifice  life  itself  if  need  be  in  order 
that  the  nation  might  have  life  and  have  it  more  abun- 
dantly. Nathan  Hale  will  thus  be  seen  to  speak  for  all  the 
youths  of  his  own  day.  He  will  speak,  too,  for  all  the 
youths  since  that  day  who  preferred  the  interests  of  the 


142  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

national  life  to  the  interests  of  the  individual  life.  He 
speaks,  too,  for  all  the  youths  to-day  who  would  willingly 
sacrifice  themselves  and  deem  it  a  privilege,  did  the  life  of 
the  nation  require  the  sacrifice. 

A  long  step  has  thus  been  taken  in  the  universalizing 
process,  but  the  teacher  may  extend  the  process  until  the 
highest  flight  is  reached  when  the  principle,  applied  thus 
far  to  America,  has  been  extended  and  applied  to  any 
nation,  to  all  nations,  until  there  dawns  a  consciousness 
that  in  any  nation,  in  all  nations,  there  are  youths  in  whom 
the  spirit  of  Nathan  Hale  has  lived,  still  lives,  who  will, 
in  the  dark  days  of  their  nation 's  life,  go  out  with  fearless- 
ness to  sacrifice  their  individual  lives  in  order  that  their 
nation  may  have  life  and  have  it  more  abundantly. 

The  study  will  now  have  risen  above  the  environment  of 
geographical  and  historical  incidents  and  will  have  become 
a  message  of  patriotism  and  a  type  of  ideal  moral  courage 
which  speaks  to  the  universal  heart  of  man,  kindling  the 
fires  of  patriotic  ardor  and  inspiring  with  devotion  to  the 
common  good.  Through  this  message  Nathan  Hale  be- 
comes a  citizen  of  a  country  that  knows  no  boundaries,  an 
ideal  of  all  humanity,  and  in  so  far  as  man  may,  has  gained 
an  earthly  immortality. 

These  are  the  limits  to  which  the  study  of  the  poem  may 
be  pressed,  but  each  class,  under  the  inspiring  touch  of  the 
soulful  teacher,  will  define  its  own  limits,  will  exhaust  its 
own  possibilities. 

The  universal  message  hinted  at  in  the  analysis  of 
Nathan  Hale  may  be  made  more  concrete  and  vivid  by  the 
study  of  a  similar  poem  dealing  with  another  time  and 
people.  For  this  study  let  us  turn  to  the  poem  of  Regulus, 
the  noble  Roman. 


TYPE   STUDIES  143 

REGULUS 

(Study  and  Contrast) 

Urge  me  no  more — your  prayers  are  vain, 

And  even  the  tears  ye  shed: 

When  Regulus  can  lead  again 

The  bands  that  once  he  led; 

When  he  can  raise  your  legions  slain 

On  swarthy  Lybia's  fatal  plain 

To  vengeance  from  the  dead; 

Then  will  he  seek  once  more  a  home, 

And  lift  a  freeman's  voice  in  Rome ! 

Accursed  moment !  when  I  woke 
From  faintness  all  but  death; 
And  felt  the  coward  conqueror's  yoke 
Like  venomed  serpents  wreathe 
Round  every  limb!    If  lip  and  eye 
Betrayed  no  sign  of  agony, 
Inly  I  cursed  my  breath! 
Wherefore,  of  all  that  fought,  was  I 
The  only  wretch  who  could  not  die? 

To  darkness  and  to  chains  consigned, 

The  captive's  blighting  doom 

I  recked  not;  could  they  chain  the  mind, 

Or  plunge  the  soul  in  gloom? 

And  there  they  left  me,  dark  and  lone, 

Till  darkness  had  familiar  grown; 

Then  from  that  living  tomb 

They  led  me  forth,— I  thought  to  die, — 

Oh !  in  that  thought  was  ecstacy. 

But  no — kind  Heaven  had  yet  in  store 
For  me,  a  conquered  slave, 
A  joy  I  thought  to  feel  no  more, 
Or  feel  but  in  the  grave. 


144  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

They  deemed  perchance  my  haughtier  mood 
Was  quelled  by  chains  and  solitude; 
That  he  who  once  was  brave — 
Was  I  not  brave? — had  now  become 
Estranged  from  honor  as  from  Rome ! 


They  bade  me  to  my  country  bear 

The  offers  these  have  borne; 

They  would  have  trained  my  lips  to  swear, 

Which  never  yet  have  sworn! 

Silent  their  base  commands  I  heard; 

At  length  I  pledged  a  Roman's  word 

Unshrinking  to  return. 

I  go  prepared  to  meet  the  worst — 

But  I  shall  gall  proud  Carthage  first! 

They  sue  for  peace, — I  bid  you  spurn 

The  gilded  bait  they  bear! 

I  bid  you  still,  with  aspect  stern, 

War,  ceaseless  war,  declare ! 

Fools  that  they  were,  could  not  mine  eye, 

Through  their  dissembled  calmness,  spy 

The  struggles  of  despair? 

Else  had  they  sent  this  wasted  frame, 

To  bribe  you  to  your  country's  shame? 

Your  land — I  must  not  call  it  mine; 

No  country  has  the  slave; 

His  father's  name  he  must  resign, 

And  even  his  father's  grave; 

But  this  not  now — beneath  her  lies 

Proud  Carthage  and  her  destinies: 

Her  empire  o'er  the  wave 

Is  yours; — she  knows  it  well — and  you 

Shall  know  and  make  her  feel  it  too! 


TYPE   STUDIES  145 

Ay,  bend  your  brows,  ye  ministers 

Of  coward  hearts,  on  me! 

Ye  know  no  longer  it  is  hers, 

The  empire  of  the  sea; 

Ye  know  her  fleets  are  far  and  few, 

Her  bands,  a  mercenary  crew; 

And  Rome,  the  bold  and  free, 

Shall  trample  on  her  prostrate  towers, 

Despite  your  weak  and  wasted  powers. 

One  path  alone  remains  for  me; 

My  vows  were  heard  on  high. 

Thy  triumphs,  Rome,  I  shall  not  see, 

For  I  return  to  die. 

Then  tell  not  me  of  hope  or  life; 

I  have  in  Rome  no  chaste,  fond  wife, 

No  smiling  progeny. 

One  word  concenters  for  the  slave — 

Wife,  children,  country,  all — THE  GRAVE! 

—Thomas  Dale 

Thought  Analysis: 

To  give  zest  to  the  study  of  this  poem,  the  teacher  should 
give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  Roman  and  Carthaginian  em- 
pires and  the  causes  and  consequences  of  their  rivalry  and 
hatred  toward  each  other.  If  this  is  skilfully  done  much 
valuable  historical  data  will  be  sought  by  the  class  through 
well-directed  references.  While  the  analysis  of  any  work 
of  art  lies  within  itself,  the  individual  thought  upon  which 
it  is  based  will  be  enhanced  by  a  fulness  of  historical  data 
and  the  choice  of  reading  matter  will  be  determined  by  the 
study.  Thus  the  study  of  a  poem  may  be  made  to  serve  a 
double  function.  The  alert  teacher  will  be  careful  not  to 
permit  the  study  of  the  poem  to  degenerate  into  a  discus- 
sion of  Roman  or  Carthaginian  history  because  both  hap- 


146  LITERATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

pen  to  be  suggested  by  the  poem.  Trails  and  byways  may 
suggest  possible  excursions  for  the  future,  but  the  trail  of 
to-day  must  be  the  determinant  of  the  course  to  be  pursued. 
The  poem  opens  with  a  sharp  appeal  to  the  imagination : 
*  *  Urge  me  no  more. ' '  Who  speaks  ?  Where  does  he  speak  ? 
To  whom  does  he  speak  and  under  what  circumstances? 
The  reader  must  picture  a  scene  outside  of  Imperial  Rome. 
He  must  see  the  heroic  Roman  on  the  one  side  and  the 
vast  multitude  of  Romans  on  the  other.  The  imagina- 
tion must  also  think  the  conditions  which  preceded  the 
opening  lines  of  the  speech  of  Regulus.  The  prayers  and 
tears  and  persuasion  of  wife  and  children  and  kindred  and 
friends  and  neighbors  and  Senators  have  been  resorted  to 
to  persuade  him  to  give  up  his  determination  to  return  to 
Carthage  and  to  take  his  place  once  more  as  a  citizen  of  the 
imperial  city.  The  irrevocableness  of  his  decision  is  mir- 
rored in  the  lines: 

"  When  Regulus  can  lead  again 
The  bands  that  once  he  led; 
When  he  can  raise  your  legions  slain 
On  swarthy  Lybia's  fatal  plain 
To  vengeance  from  the  dead; 
Then  will  he  seek  once  more  a  home, 
And  lift  a  freeman's  voice  in  Rome!" 

The  study  of  this  stanza  arouses  a  curiosity  to  know  the 
conditions  that  have  determined  his  decision  and  to  know 
the  circumstances  that  have  debarred  him  from  participat- 
ing in  the  freeman's  privileges  as  a  Roman.  The  next 
stanza  turns  the  attention  to  conditions  and  incidents  in 
Carthage  preceding  the  scene  just  portrayed. 

Here,  too,  the  imagination  must  fill  in  the  details.  The 
battle  must  be  fought,  the  Roman  legions  destroyed,  the 
great  commander  rendered  senseless,  as  a  prelude  to  the 


TYPE   STUDIES  147 

thought  of  the  second  stanza.  Through  the  exercise  of  the 
imagination  the  reader  must  feel  with  Regulus  the  humil- 
iation of  captivity,  must  feel  the  internal  agitation  and  the 
perfect  external  control;  must  feel  the  force  and  signifi- 
cance of  the  lines : 

"  Wherefore,  of  all  that  fought,  was  I 
The  only  wretch  who  could  not  die  ?  " 

In  the  third  stanza  the  conditions  of  captivity  are  artis- 
tically blended  with  the  spirit  of  the  captive.  This  spirit 
is  vividly  expressed  in  the  lines : 

"  The  captive's  blighting  doom 
I  recked  not." 

The  reason  for  this  sublime  indifference  is  forcibly  ex- 
pressed in : 

"  Could  they  chain  the  mind, 
Or  plunge  the  soul  in  gloom  ?  " 

The  reader  must  next  see  the  captive  led  forth ;  must  feel 
the  reason  with  him ;  must  learn  with  him  the  real  reason, 
and  note  his  attitude  and  feelings  as  he  received  the  mes- 
sage which  he  was  to  bear  to  his  countrymen.  He  must 
feel  also  what  was  going  on  in  the  heart  and  mind  of  the 
captive  as  he  heard  these  admonitions  in  silence.  The  atti- 
tude of  mind  is  hinted  at  in  these  lines : 

"  They  deemed  perchance  my  haughtier  mood 
Was  quelled  by  chains  and  solitude; 
That  he  who  once  was  brave — 
Was  I  not  brave? — had  now  become 
Estranged  from  honor  as  from  Rome ! M 

But  in  the  following  stanza  his  resolve  is  fully  shown. 
Regulus  turns  to  the  Carthaginian  ambassadors  who  have 


148  LITERATURE   IN    THE   SCHOOL 

accompanied  him  to  Rome  and  who  have  laid  the  demands 
of  Carthage  before  the  Roman  officials,  and  speaking  of 
the  officials  of  Carthage  who  have  sent  him  on  the  errand, 
exclaims : 

"  They  bade  me  to  my  country  bear 
The  message  these  have  borne; 
They  would  have  trained  my  lips  to  swear 
Which  never  yet  have  sworn! 

Then  he  justifies  his  coming  as  he  expresses  his  attitude 
and  explains  his  purpose : 

"  Silent  their  base  commands  I  heard ; " 

and  in  the  following  stanza : 

— "  I  bid  you  spurn 
The  gilded  bait  they  bear; 
I  bid  you  still,  with  aspect  stern, 
War,  ceaseless  war,  declare !  n 

His  reason  for  this  advice  in  the  following  lines: 

"  Fools  that  they  were,  could  not  mine  eye, 
Through  their  dissembled  calmness,  spy 
The  struggles  of  despair?" 

The  resources  of  Carthage  were  exhausted  and  less  than 
peace  spelled  disaster.  So  Regulus  knows  and  impresses 
upon  his  hearers  as  he  continues : 

"Your  land — beneath  her  lies 
Proud  Carthage  and  her  destinies; 
Her  empire  o'er  the  wave 
Is  yours; — she  knows  it  well,  and  you 
Shall  know  and  make  her  feel  it  too." 

With  climactic  effect  the  poet  reenforces  this  statement  by 


TYPE   STUDIES  149 

the  testimony  of  the  Carthaginian  ambassadors,  who  tes- 
tify by  their  attitude.  This  is  shown  in  the  lines : 

"Ay,  bend  your  brows,  ye  ministers 
Of  coward  hearts,  on  me; 
Ye  know  no  longer  it  is  hers, 
The  empire  pf  the  sea; — 
Ye  know  her  fleets  are  far  and  few, 
Her  bands  a  mercenary  crew." 

His  attitude  and  purpose  as  an  ambassador  to  his  own 
country  have  now  been  fully  revealed,  but  there  remains 
to  be  explained  his  determination  to  return  to  Carthage  re- 
gardless of  the  consequences.  If  there  is  no  valid  reason 
for  this,  if  it  is  a  determination  based  on  whim  or  ca- 
price, it  is  foolhardiness  and  not  moral  courage.  The  ex- 
planation of  this  attitude  must  be  sought  for  in  the  poem 
itself.  We  find  the  explanation  in  the  lines : 

"  At  length  I  pledged  a  Roman's  word 
Unshrinking  to  return." 

And  also  in  the  line: 

"My  vows  were  heard  on  high." 

These  lines  place  the  emphasis  upon  truth  and  duty  as  con- 
trasted with  individual  preference  or  pleasure.  The  devo- 
tion to  duty  regardless  of  consequences,  the  placing  of  fidel- 
ity to  word  and  principle,  above  life  and  the  pleasures 
pertaining  thereto,  lift  the  study  to  the  plane  of  heroic 
moral  courage,  a  type  of  the  ideal. 

The  worth  of  the  sacrifice  is  intensified  by  the  poet  as  he 
pictures  through  the  lips  of  the  hero  what  the  sacrifice 
means. 

"  Your  land — I  must  not  call  it  mine — 
No  country  has  the  slave; 


150  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

His  father's  name  he  must  resign, 
And  even  his  father's  grave." 

And  also  in  the  lines: 

"  Thy  triumphs,  Rome,  I  shall  not  see, 
For  I  return  to  die. 
Then  tell  not  me  of  hope  or  life; 
I  have  in  Rome  no  chaste,  fond  wife, 
No  smiling  progeny. 
One  word  concenters  for  the  slave — 
Wife,  children,  country,  all — THE  GRAVE  ! " 

The  theme  as  a  type  may  be  universalized  after  the  man- 
ner indicated  in  the  study  of  Nathan  Hale.  Both  poems 
may  be  intensified  and  enhanced  by  contrasting  the  central 
thought  or  theme  of  the  one  with  that  of  the  other. 

These  poems  may  now  be  contrasted  with  a  study  from 
Athenian  life  embodied  in  the  poem  * '  Pheidippides. ' ' 


PHEIDIPPIDES 

First  I  salute  this  soil  of  the  blessed,  river  and  rock! 
Gods  of  my  birthplace,  demons  and  heroes,  honor  to  all! 
Then  I  name  thee,  claim  thee  for  our  patron,  co-equal  in  praise 
Ay,  with  Zeus  the  Defender,  with  Her  of  the  aegis  and  spear! 
Also,  ye  of  the  bow  and  the  buskin,  praised  be  your  peer, 
Now,  henceforth  and  forever, — 0  latest  to  whom  I  upraise 
Hand  and  heart  and  voice !    For  Athens,  leave  pasture  and  flock  I 
Present  to  help,  potent  to  save,  Pan — patron  I  call ! 

Archons  of  Athens,  topped  by  the  tettix,  see,  I  return! 
See,  'tis  myself  here  standing  alive,  no  spectre  that  speaks! 
Crowned  with  the  myrtle,  did  you  command  me,  Athens  and  you, 
"Run,  Pheidippides,  run  and  race,  reach  Sparta  for  aid! 


TYPE  STUDIES  151 

Persia  has  come,  we  are  here,  where  is  She?  "    Your  command  I 

obeyed, 

Ran  and  raced;  like  stubble,  some  field  which  a  fire  runs  through, 
Was  the  space  between  city  and  city;  two  days,  two  nights  did  I 

burn 
Over  the  hills,  under  the  dales,  down  pits  and  up  peaks. 


Into  their  midst  I  broke ;  breath  served  but  for  "  Persia  has  come ! 

Persia  bids  Athens  proffer  slaves-tribute,  water  and  earth; 

Razed  to  the  ground  is  Eretria — but  Athens,  shall  Athens  sink, 

Drop  into  dust  and  die — the  flower  of  Hellas  utterly  die, 

Die,  with  the  wide  world  spitting  at  Sparta,  the  stupid,  the 
stander-by  ? 

Answer  me  quick,  what  help,  what  hand  do  you  stretch  o'er  de- 
struction's brink? 

How — when?  No  care  for  my  limbs! — there's  lightning  in  all 
and  some — 

Fresh  and  fit  your  message  to  bear,  once  lips  give  it  birth ! " 


0  my  Athens — Sparta  love  thee?    Did  Sparta  respond? 
Every  face  of  her  leered  in  a  furrow  of  envy,  mistrust, 
Malice, — each  eye  of  her  gave  me  its  glitter  of  gratified  hate! 
Gravely  they  turned  to  take  counsel,  to  cast  for  excuses.    I  stood 
Quivering, — the  limbs  of  me  fretting  as  fire  frets,  an  inch  from 

dry  wood: 

"Persia  has  come,  Athens  asks  aid,  and  still  they  debate? 
Thunder,  thou  Zeus!    Athene,  are  Spartans  a  quarry  beyond 
Swing   of   thy   spear?    Phoibos   and   Artemis,  clang  them  'Ye 

must'!" 


No  bolt  launched  from  Olumpos !    Lo,  their  answer  at  last ! 
"  Has  Persia  come, — does  Athens  ask  aid, — may  Sparta  befriend  ? 
Nowise  precipitate  judgment — too  weighty  the  issue  at  stake! 
Count  we  no  time  lost  time  which  lags  through  respect  to  the  gods ! 


152  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

Ponder  that  precept  of  old,  '  No  warfare,  whatever  the  odds 
In  your  favor,  so  long  as  the  moon,  half -orbed,  is  unable  to  take 
Full-circle  her  state  in  the  sky ! '    Already  she  rounds  to  it  fast : 
Athens  must  wait,  patient  as  we — who  judgment  suspend." 


Athens,  except  for  that  sparkle, — thy  name,  I  had  mouldered 

to  ash! 

That  sent  a  blaze  through  my  blood ;  off,  off  and  away  was  I  back, 
— Not  one  word  to  waste,  one  look  to  lose  on  the  false  and  the  vile ! 
Yet  "  0  gods  of  my  land ! "  I  cried  as  each  hillock  and  plain, 
Wood  and  stream,  I  knew,  I  named,  rushing  past  them  again, 
"  Have  ye  kept  faith,  proved  mindful  of  honors  we  paid  you  ere- 

while? 

Vain  was  the  filleted  victim,  the  fulsome  libation!    Too  rash 
Love  in  its  choice,  paid  you  so  largely  service  so  slack! 


"  Oak  and  olive  and  bay, — I  bid  you  cease  to  enwreathe 
Brows  made  bold  by  your  leaf!    Fade  at  the  Persian's  foot, 
You  that,  our  patrons  were  pledged,  should  never  adorn  a  slave! 
Rather  I  hail  thee,  Parnes, — trust  to  thy  wild  waste  tract! 
Treeless,  herbless,  lifeless  mountain!    What  matter  if  slacked 
My  speed  may  hardly  be,  for  homage  to  crag  and  to  cave 
No  deity  deigns  to  drape  with  verdure? — at  least  I  can  breathe, 
Fear  in  thee  no  fraud  from  the  blind,  no  lie  from  the  mute ! " 


Such  my  cry  as,  rapid,  I  ran  over  Parnes'  ridge; 
Gully  and  gap  I  clambered  and  cleared  till,  sudden,  a  bar 
Jutted,  a  stoppage  of  stone  against  me,  blocking  the  way. 
Right!  for  I  minded  the  hollow  to  traverse,  the  fissure  across: 
"  Where  I  could  enter,  there  I  depart  by!    Night  in  the  fosse? 
Athens  to  aid?    Though  the  dive  were  through  Erebos,  thus  I 

obey- 
Out  of  the  day  dive,  into  the  day  as  bravely  arise !    No  bridge 
Better!  " — when — ha!  what  was  it  I  came  on,  of  wonders  that  are? 


TYPE   STUDIES  153 

There,  in  the  cool  of  a  cleft  sat  he — majestical  Pan! 

Ivy  drooped  wanton,  kissed  his  head,  moss  cushioned  his  hoof : 

All  the  great  god  was  good  in  the  eyes  grave-kindly — the  curl 

Carved  on  the  bearded  cheek,  amused  at  a  mortal's  awe, 

As,  under  the  human  trunk,  the  goat-thighs  grand  I  saw. 

"Halt,  Pheidippides ! "— halt  I  did,  my  brain  of  a  whirl: 

"  Hither  to  me !     Why  pale  in  my  presence  ?  "  he  gracious  began : 

"How  is  it, — Athens,  only  in  Hellas,  holds  me  aloof? 

"  Athens,  she  only,  rears  me  no  fane,  makes  me  no  feast ! 
Wherefore?    Than  I  what  godship  to  Athens  more  helpful  of 

old? 

Ay,  and  still,  and  forever  her  friend !     Test  Pan,  trust  me ! 
Go,  bid  Athens  take  heart,  laugh  Persia  to  scorn,  have  faith 
In  the  temples  and  tombs !     Go  say  to  Athens,  '  The  Goat-God 

saith : 

When  Persia — so  much  as  strews  not  the  soil — is  cast  in  the  sea, 
Then  praise  Pan  who  fought  in  the  ranks  with  your  most  and 

least, 
Goat-thigh  to  greaved-thigh,  made  one  cause  with  the  free  and  the 

bold!' 

"Say   Pan   saith:    'Let    this,    foreshowing   the    place,    be   the 

pledge!7" 

(Gay,  the  liberal  hand  held  out  this  herbage  I  bear — 
Fennel — I  grasped  it  a-tremble  with  dew — whatever  it  bode) 
"While,  as  for  thee"  .  .  .  But  enough!    He  was  gone.    I  ran 

hitherto — 

Be  sure  that,  the  rest  of  my  journey,  I  ran  no  longer,  but  flew. 
Parnes  to  Athens — earth  no  more,  the  air  was  my  road: 
Here  am  I  back.    Praise  Pan,  we  stand  no  more  on  the  razor's 


Pan  for  Athens,  Pan  for  me!    I  too  have  a  guerdon  rare! 

Then  spoke  Miltiades.    "  And  thee,  best  runner  of  Greece, 
Whose  limbs  did  duty  indeed, — what  gift  is  promised  thyself? 


154  LITERATURE  IN  THE   SCHOOL 

Tell  it  us  straightway, — Athens  the  mother  demands  of  her  son !  " 
Rosily  blushed  the  youth:  he  paused:  but,  lifting  at  length 
His  eyes  from  the  ground,  it  seemed  as  he  gathered  the  rest  of  his 

strength 

Into  the  utterance — "  Pan  spoke  thus :  '  For  what  thou  hast  done 
Count  on  a  worthy  reward!  Henceforth  be  allowed  thee  release 
From  the  racer's  toil,  no  vulgar  reward  in  praise  or  in  pelf ! ' 


"  I  am  bold  to  believe,  Pan  means  reward  the  most  to  my  mind ! 
Fight    I    shall,    with    our   foremost,  wherever  this    fennel  may 

grow, — 

Pound — Pan  helping  us — Persia  to  dust,  and,  under  the  deep, 
Whelm  her  away  forever;  and  then, — no  Athens  to  save, — 
Marry  a  certain  maid,  I  know  keeps  faith  to  the  brave, — 
Hie  to  my  house  and  home:  and,  when  my  children  shall  creep 
Close  to  my  knees, — recount  how  the  God  was  awful  yet  kind. 
Promised  their  sire  reward  to  the  full — rewarding  him  so !  " 


Unforeseeing  one!    Yes,  he  fought  on  the  Marathon  day: 
So,  when  Persia  was  dust,  all  cried  "  To  Akropolis ! 
Run,  Pheidippides,  one  race  more ;  the  meed  is  thy  due ! 
'Athens  is  saved,  thank  Pan/  go  shout."    He  flung  down  his 

shield, 

Ran  like  fire  once  more :  and  the  space  'twixt  the  Fennelfield 
And  Athens  was  stubble  again,  a  field  which  a  fire  runs  through, 
Till  in  he  broke :  "  Rejoice,  we  conquer !  "    Like   wine   through 

clay, 
Joy  in  his  blood  bursting  his  heart,  he  died — the  bliss! 


So,  to  this  day,  when  friend  meets  friend,  the  word  of  salute 
Is  still  "  Rejoice ! "  his  word  which  brought  rejoicing  indeed. 
So  is  Pheidippides  happy  forever, — the  noble  strong  man 
Who  could  race  like  a  god,  bear  the  face  of  a  god,  whom  a  god 
loved  so  well: 


TYPE   STUDIES  155 

He  saw  the  land  saved  he  had  helped  to  save,  and  was  suffered 

to  tell 

Such  tidings,  yet  never  decline,  but,  gloriously  as  he  began, 
So  to  end  gloriously — once  to  shout,  thereafter  be  mute: 
"  Athens   is   saved !  " — Pheidippides   dies   in    the   shout  for  his 

meed. 

— Robert  Browning 

Thought  Analysis: 

The  teacher  may  precede  the  study  of  this  poem  by  an 
animated  description  of  the  Persian-Grecian  contact  and 
conflict  up  to  and  including  the  battle  of  Marathon.  This 
should  be  graphic,  vivid,  animated,  picturesque.  The  in- 
terest which  may  be  aroused  in  this  manner  will  bear 
wholesome  fruit  in  well-directed  supplementary  reading 
along  historical  lines.  This  historical  study  should  be  an 
outgrowth  of  the  study  of  the  poem,  but  the  study  should 
not  be  dissipated  and  enervated  by  dwelling  upon  the 
facts  of  history  rather  than  on  the  incidents  of  the  poem 
itself. 

The  opening  lines  of  the  poem  focus  the  attention  on 
the  central  character,  Pheidippides,  and  arouse  a  curiosity 
as  to  his  attitude  of  mind  in  this  preliminary  religious 
salute.  The  curiosity  thus  aroused  will  have  been  enhanced 
if  the  imagination  has  pictured  the  scene  in  Athens  where 
the  message  of  Pheidippides  is  to  be  delivered.  The  curi- 
osity is  still  further  aroused  by  the  exaltation  of  Pan  and 
the  eulogy  addressed  to  him.  A  desire  to  know  the  cause 
of  this  fervent  outburst  impels  the  reader  to  seek  the  cause 
in  the  incidents  which  follow. 

The  interest  which  has  been  aroused  is  held  in  abeyance 
while  the  facts,  which  give  significance  to  the  message  which 
is  to  be  delivered,  are  narrated.  The  rapidity  with  which 
the  messenger  has  performed  the  task  assigned,  as  well  as 


156  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

the  physical  strain  to  which  he  has  been  subjected,  are 
vividly  set  forth  in  the  line : 

"  See,  'tis  myself  here  standing  alive,  no  spectre  that  speaks ! " 

The  suddenness  of  his  appearance  in  Sparta  as  well  as 
the  deliberateness  of  that  people  are  well  suggested  by  the 
line: 

"Into  their  midst  I  broke ;" 

the  verb  broke  being  especially  significant.  The  attitude 
of  the  Athenians  and  their  expectations  are  set  forth  in  the 
lines : 

"  Persia  has  come ! 
Persia  bids  Athens  proffer  slaves-tribute,  water  and  earth." 

The  unexpected  reluctance  of  the  Spartans  to  befriend 
Athens  in  her  stress  is  mirrored  in  the  lines : 

" Shall  Athens  sink, 

Drop  into  dust  and  die — the  flower  of  Hellas  utterly  die, 
Die,  with   the    wide   world   spitting   at   Sparta,  the  stupid,  the 
stander-by  ?  " 

The  lack  of  response  at  this  appeal  to  the  pride  and  self- 
respect  of  the  Spartans  is  revealed  in  the  line: 

"Answer  me  quick,  what  help,  what  hand  do  you  stretch  o'er 
destruction's  brink? 

In  the  lines : 

"  How — when  ?    No  care  for  my  limbs,"  etc., 

Pheidippides  pictures  his  own  eagerness  to  carry  a  message 
of  hope  and  encouragement  to  his  despairing  and  anxious 
countrymen. 


TYPE    STUDIES  157 

The  final  decision  of  the  Spartans  to  the  appeal  of  the 
Athenians  is  anticipated  in  the  lines: 

"0  my  Athens — Sparta  love  thee?    Did  Sparta  respond  f" 

which  is  followed  by  the  message  itself  with   climactic 
effect. 

The  message  is  also  anticipated  in  the  graphic  lines : 

"  Every  face  of  her  leered  in  a  furrow  of  envy,  mistrust, 
Malice, — each  eye  of  her  gave  me  its  glitter  of  gratified  hate !  •" 

Note  the  effect  of  the  alliteration  and  especially  of  the  use 
of  "gratified." 

The  exasperating  deliberateness  of  the  Spartans  is  elo- 
quently expressed  in  the  line : 

"  Gravely  they  turned  to  take  counsel,  to  cast  for  excuses." 

Pheidippides  reveals  the  unexpectedness  of  this  attitude  on 
the  part  of  the  Spartans  in  saying : 

"  Persia  has  come,  Athens  asks  aid,  and  still  they  debate  f  " 

He  shows,  too,  that  he  anticipates  the  outcome  of  their  de- 
liberations and  debates  in  his: 

"  Thunder,  thou  Zeus !    Athene,  are  Spartans   a  quarry  beyond 
Swing    of    thy    spear?    Phoibus  and  Artemis,  clang  them  'ye 
must'!" 

Strongly  significant  is  the  exclamation: 

"  No  bolt  launched  from  Olumpos!  " 

The  anticipated  answer  of  the  Spartans  to  the  appeal  of 
the  Athenians  is  finally  revealed  in  the  lines: 

"Has    Persia   come, — does   Athens    ask   aid, — may    Sparta   be- 
friend ? 
Nowise  precipitate  judgment, — too  weighty  the  issues  at  stake." 


158  LITEKATURE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

(These  lines  reveal,  too,  the  exasperating  deliberateness 
and  indifference  of  the  Spartans  with  artistic  effect.) 

u  Count  we  no  time  lost  time  which  lags  through  respect  to  the 

gods! 

Ponder  that  precept  of  old,  '  No  warfare,  whatever  the  odds 
In  your  favor,  so  long  as  the  moon,  half -orbed,  is  unable  to  take 
Full-circled  her  state  in  the  sky!'  Already  she  rounds  to  it  fast: 
Athens  must  wait,  patient  as  we — who  judgment  suspend." 

Thus  under  the  guise  of  a  religious  pretense  Sparta  grati- 
fies jealousy  of  Athens. 

The  patriotic  impulses  of  Pheidippides  are  couched  in 
the  line: 

"Athens,  except  for  that  sparkle, — thy  name,  I  had  mouldered 
to  ash!" 

It  also  furnished  an  opportunity  to  relate  the  incidents 
following  the  expression  of  the  Spartans  without  a  break 
in  the  narration.  The  mind  follows  Pheidippides  in  his 
movement  as  well  as  in  his  expressed  thought  as  he  ex- 
claims : 

"  That  sent  a  blaze  through  my  blood ;  off,  off  and  away  was  I 

back, 
Not  one  word  to  waste,  one  look  to  lose  on  the  false  and  the  vile." 

The  theme  now  returns  to  the  interest  aroused  at  the 
opening  of  the  poem  and  the  explanation  is  to  be  given  of 
the  attitude  of  Pheidippides  as  he  preceded  his  report  with 
a  ceremony  or  rite.  After  the  Spartans  have  expressed 
their  indifference,  Pheidippides  seeks  the  cause  for  their 
attitude  toward  Athens,  and  he  finally  attributes  it  to  the 
indifference  or  impotence  of  the  gods  whom  the  Athenians 
delight  to  worship.  This  is  shown  in  the  exclamation : 


TYPE   STUDIES  159 

"  0  gods  of  my  land — have    ye    kept  faith,  proved  mindful  of 

honors  we  paid  you  erewhile? 

Vain  was  the  filleted  victim,  the  fulsome  libation!     Too  rash 
Love  in  its  choice,  paid  you  so  largely  service  so  slack  1 " 

This  resentment  toward  the  gods  for  their  negligence  is 
further  intensified  by: 

"Oak  and  olive  and  bay, — I  bid  you  cease  to  enwreathe 
Brows  made  bold  by  your  leaf." 

This  attitude  of  resentment  toward  the  gods  who  have  per- 
mitted the  Spartans  to  deny  aid  reaches  its  climax  in  the 
appeal  of  Pheidippides  to  the  barren  mountain  peak,  and 
in  which  he  expends  his  childlike  fury  in  the  lines: 

"At  least  I  can  breathe, — 
Fear  in  thee  no  fraud  from  the  blind,  no  lie  from  the  mute!" 

At  this  point  in  the  development  the  chaotic  condition  of 
Pheidippides'  mind,  suggested  by  his  outbursts,  is  artis- 
tically contrasted  with  the  wild  and  confused  physical  con- 
ditions of  the  country,  and  at  this  point  Pan  is  introduced 
in  person  with  artistic  effect.  This  throws  the  mind  back 
to  the  beginning  of  the  poem,  and  the  reader  anticipates  an 
explanation  of  the  eulogy  to  Pan.  The  significance  of  god- 
service,  without  reward  or  rite  or  ceremony,  is  suggested 
in  the  lines: 

"How  is  it — Athens,  only  in  Hellas,  holds  me  aloof? 
Athens,  she  only,  rears  me  no  fane,  makes  me  no  feast? 
Wherefore?  Than  I  what  godship  to  Athens  more  helpful  of  old? 
Ay,  and  still,  and  forever  her  friend ! " 

In  the  following  expression  of  Pan  a  new  interest  is 
aroused  which  impels  the  reader  to  move  forward  in  the 
reading.  This  is  embodied  in  the  significant  expression: 


160  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"Test  Pan,  trust  me!"  This  interest  is  still  further 
strengthened  by  the  promise  of  Pan: 

"  Go,  bid  Athens  take  heart,  laugh  Persia  to  scorn,  have  faith 
In  the  temples  and  tombs !     Go,  say  to  Athens,  '  The  Goat-God 

saith: 

When  Persia — so  much  as  strews  not  the  soil — is  cast  in  the  sea, 
Then  praise  Pan  who  fought  in  the  ranks  with  your  most  and 

least, 
Goat-thigh  to  greaved-thigh,  made  one  cause  with  the  free  and 

the  bold!' 
'  Let  this  foreshowing  the  place,  be  the  pledge ! ' } 

In  his  description  of  the  .remainder  of  the  journey  Pheidip- 
pides  reveals  the  faith  and  inspiration  of  the  promise  of 
Pan.  His  childlike  simplicity  is  echoed  back  by  the  Athe- 
nians as  they  accept  unquestioned  his  statements,  descrip- 
tions, and  fennel-proof. 

Another  interest  is  here  injected  into  the  poem,  an  inter- 
est which  is  pivotal  in  character,  the  key  to  the  significance 
of  the  poem  as  a  whole.  This  interest  centers  around  the 
personal  reward  promised  Pheidippides  by  Pan.  This  in- 
terest is  further  intensified  by  the  anticipation  shown  by 
Pheidippides  in  response  to  a  question  by  Miltiades,  who 
prefaced  his  query  with  a  Spartanlike  acknowledgment  of 
Pheidippides'  work  and  worth: 

"  And  thee,  best  runner  of  Greece, 

Whose  limbs  did  duty  indeed,— what  gift  is  promised  thyself? 
Tell  it  us  straightway, — Athens  the  mother  demands  of  her  son !  " 

This  personal  request  of  the  great  commander  of  the  Athe- 
nian forces  serves  to  dignify  the  promise  and  to  center  the 
attention  upon  it  and  also  upon  what  Pheidippides  believes 
it  purports.  The  element  of  suspense  is  again  introduced 
to  be  held  to  the  end  of  the  poem.  This  suspense  is  sug- 


TYPE   STUDIES  161 

gested  by  the  exclamation :  * '  Unf oreseeing  one ! ' '  The  pre- 
liminary interest  as  to  Pan's  promise  and  performance  is 
first  gratified  in  order  that  the  mind  may  give  full  measure 
of  attention  to  the  individual  reward  and  its  significance. 
To  Pheidippides  is  accorded  the  privilege  of  bearing  to  his 
anxious  kindred  and  friends  in  Athens  the  news  of  the 
triumph  of  Athenian  valor.  He  realizes  the  culmination 
of  earthly  joy  when  he  bears  the  message:  "Rejoice!  we 
conquer ! ' ' 

This  ending,  the  climax  of  the  poem,  should  be  intensi- 
fied by  vividly  picturing  the  suspense  which  the  old  men, 
the  women  and  the  children  were  under  at  Athens  during 
the  progress  of  the  battle,  and  their  mingled  hopes  and 
fears  as  they  beheld  the  coming  of  the  messenger,  uncer- 
tain whether  he  bore  news  of  defeat  and  disaster — slavery 
for  them  and  annihilation  for  their  beloved  city — or  victory 
and  triumph  and  liberty  and  life!  These  were  conditions 
the  most  intense.  Tidings  of  great  joy  would  now  be  at 
their  highest  and  best.  No  greater  joy  could  man  experi- 
ence than  to  be  the  bearer  of  great  news  under  such  condi- 
tions. Never  again  could  the  "bravest  runner  of  Greece" 
find  a  task  equally  worthy.  Significant  it  is  that  the  gods 
grant  him  release  from  the  racer 's  toil  at  this  supreme 
moment.  Borne  on  the  crest  of  a  triumphant  wave,  he 
rises  from  earthly  to  celestial  glory,  from  transient  and 
local  to  eternal  fame. 

"  So  is  Pheidippides  happy  forever, — the  noble  strong  man 
Who  could  race  like  a  god,  bear  the  face  of  a  god,  whom  a  god 

loved  so  well; 
He  saw  the  land  saved  he  had  helped  to  save,  and  was  suffered 

to  tell 

Such  tidings,  yet  never  decline,  but  gloriously  as  he  began 
So  to  end  gloriously — once  to  shout,  thereafter  be  mute : 
'  Athens  is  saved ! ' — Pheidippides  dies  in  the  shout  for  his  meed." 


162  LITERATURE  IN   THE  SCHOOL 

What  then  is  the  central  purpose  or  theme  of  the  poem? 
Snrely  it  is  no  less  than  the  portrayal  of  an  individual's 
faithfulness  to  duty  under  ideal  circumstances.  Ideal  be- 
cause these  conditions  are  hardest  and  therefore  highest 
and  best.  It  is  the  portrayal  of  fidelity  to  duty  when  the 
life  of  a  city  and  its  people  are  at  stake.  It  is  an  ideal 
blending  of  fidelity  and  faith  to  and  in  gods  and  men.  It 
points  to  the  fact  that  the  path  of  duty  is  the  highest  and 
best  even  though  it  leads  to  death  itself,  for  death  encoun- 
tered in  devotion  to  duty  is  in  itself  a  reward.  Does  the 
poem,  however,  merely  pertain  to  Athenian  life  of  ancient 
days,  or  does  it  hint  a  more  universal  message?  Did  this 
devotion  of  Pheidippides  to  duty  to  gods  and  country  ex- 
haust the  possibilities  of  such  devotion  to  duty?  Is  it  not 
more  reasonable  to  assume  that  devotion  to  duty  knows  no 
people  nor  country,  but  is  peculiar  to  all  countries  and 
peoples  and  at  all  times,  and  in  this  common  heritage  of 
devotion  to  high  principles  even  at  the  cost  of  individual 
life  is  found  the  essence  and  the  genesis  of  the  meaning  of 
the  brotherhood  of  man  ?  The  man  who  finds  life  and  duty 
to  be  synonymous  terms  and  who  squares  his  theory  with 
his  practice,  gains  an  earthly  immortality  that  knows  no 
geographical  limits  and  serves  as  an  inspiration  to  all  peo- 
ple in  all  countries  for  all  time. 

(Compare  and  contrast  this  poem  with  "Regulus"  and 
11  Nathan  Hale.") 


CHAPTER   IX 

CONTRASTED  STUDIES 
THE   SICILIAN'S  TALE 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 

And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 

With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 

And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat. 

And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 

Repeated  like  a  burden  or  refrain, 

He  caught  the  words,  "  Deposuit  potentes 

De  sede,  et  exaltavit  humiles ;  " 

And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head 

He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 

"  What  mean  these  words  I "    The  clerk  made  answer  meet, 

"He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 

And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 

Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 

"  'Tis  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 

Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue; 

For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 

There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my  throne ! " 

And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep, 

Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  night; 
The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  light, 
Save  where  the  lamps,  that  glimmered  few  and  faint. 
Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 


164  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around, 
But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 
He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked; 
He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked, 
And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  complaints 
And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 
The  sounds  re-echoed  from  the  roof  and  walls 
As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 


At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout, 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Came  with  his  lantern,  asking,  "Who  is  there?" 
Half  choked  with  rage,  King  Robert  fiercely  said, 
"Open:  'tis  I,  the  King!    Art  thou  afraid?" 
The  frightened  sexton,  muttering,  with  a  curse, 
"  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse ! " 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal  wide; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor  spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 


Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane, 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bareheaded,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire, 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate; 
Rushed  through  the  courtyard,  thrusting  in  his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 
And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 


CONTRASTED  STUDIES  165 

From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless  speed; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room, 
Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  perfume. 


There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king, 

Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring, 

King  Robert's  self  in  features,  form  and  height, 

But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light! 

It  was  an  Angel;  and  his  presence  there 

With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air, 

An  exaltation,  piercing  the  disguise, 

Though  none  the  hidden  Angel  recognize. 


A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 
The  throneless  monarch  on  the  Angel  gazed, 
Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 
With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes; 


Then  said,  "Who  art  thou?  and  why  com'st  thou  here?" 

To  which  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer, 

"  I  am  the  King,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 

From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne ! " 

And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words, 

Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their  swords; 

The  Angel  answered,  with  unruffled  brow, 

"  Nay,  not  the  King,  but  the  King's  Jester,  thou 

Henceforth  shalt  wear  the  bells  and  scalloped  cape, 

And  for  thy  counsellor  shall  lead  an  ape; 

Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 

And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall ! " 


Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and  prayers, 
They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs; 


166  LITERATURE  IN  THE   SCHOOL 

A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 

And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door, 

His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange  alarms, 

The  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms, 

And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 

With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "  Long  live  the  King ! n 

Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first  beam, 
He  said  within  himself,  "  It  was  a  dream !  " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head, 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed, 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls, 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls, 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape, 
Shivering  and  chattering,  sat  the  wretched  ape. 
It  was  no  dream;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch ! 


Days  came  and  went;  and  now  returned  again 

To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign; 

Under  the  AngePs  governance  benign 

The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine, 

And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning  breast 

Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 

Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 

Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 

Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  Jesters  wear, 

With  look  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 

Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are  shorn, 

By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 

His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 

What  others  left, — he  still  was  unsubdued. 

And  when  the  Angel  met  him  on  his  way, 

And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say, 

Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 

The  velvet  scabbard  held  a  sword  of  steel, 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  167 

"  Art  thou  the  King  ?  "  the  passion  of  his  woe 
Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow, 
And,  lifting  high  his  forehead,  he  would  fling 
The  haughty  answer  back,  "  I  am,  I  am  the  King ! " 

Almost  three  years  were  ended;  when  there  came 

Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 

From  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 

By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 

On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome. 

The  Angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests, 

And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests, 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 

And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 

Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 

Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 

Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 

By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 

With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and  the  stir 

Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo!  among  the  menials,  in  mo«k  state, 

Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 

His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  in  the  wind, 

The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind, 

King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 

In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they  went. 

The  Pope  received  them  with  great  pomp  and  blare 

Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  Saint  Peter's  square, 

Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace, 

Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 

While  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers 

He  entertained  the  Angel  unawares, 

Robert,  the  Jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd, 

Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud, 


168  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"  I  am  the  King !    Look,  and  behold  in  me 

Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily! 

This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes, 

Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise. 

Do  you  not  know  me?     Does  no  voice  within 

Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  ?  " 

The  Pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 

Gazed  at  the  Angel's  countenance  serene; 

The  Emperor,  laughing,  said,  "  It  is  strange  sport 

To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  Fool  at  court ! " 

And  the  poor,  baffled  Jester  in  disgrace 

Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  Holy  Week  went  by, 

And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky; 

The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  its  light, 

Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright, 

And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men, 

Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 

Even  the  Jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw, 

With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor  saw, 

He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 

And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor, 

He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 

Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 

Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 

Homeward  the  Angel  journeyed,  and  again 

The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train, 

Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 

Unto  Salerno,  and  from  thence  by  sea,    . 

And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 

And,  seated  on  the  throne  in  his  great  hall, 

He  heard  the  Angelus  from  convent  towers, 

As  if  the  better  world  conversed  with  ours, 

He  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher, 

And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire; 


CONTKASTED   STUDIES  169 

And  when  they  were  alone,  the  Angel  said, 
"  Art  thou  the  king?  "     Then,  bowing  down  his  head, 
King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  meekly  answered  him :  "  Thou  knowest  best ! 
My  sins  as  scarlet  are;  let  me  go  hence, 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones,  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven, 
Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven." 

The  Angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 

A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place, 

And  through  the  open  window,  loud  and  clear, 

They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel  near, 

Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street: 

"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 

And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree ! " 

And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 

Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string: 

"  I  am  an  Angel,  and  thou  art  the  King ! " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 

Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo!  he  was  alone! 

But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old, 

With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold: 

And  when  his  courtiers  came,  they  found  him  there 

Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 

— Longfellow. 

Thought    Analysis: 

In  the  opening  lines  of  this  poem : 

"  Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 
With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 


170  LITEEATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 
And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat," 

the  central  character  is  introduced,  his  station  in  life  de- 
fined, his  self-sufficiency  intimated.  His  position  in  life  as 
King  of  Sicily,  and  the  positions  of  his  brothers  as  pope 
and  emperor,  indicate  that  he  is  of  royal  birth  and  holds 
his  place  and  power  not  by  virtue  of  inherent  worth  but 
by  virtue  of  family  rank.  His  retinue  of  many  a  knight 
and  squire  indicate  his  power.  His  magnificent  attire  is 
suggestive  of  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  great  wealth.  His 
attitude  in  church,  as  hinted  at  in  the  significant  words, 
"proudly  sat,"  testify  to  his  self -centered  attitude  of  mind. 
His  bowed  head  is  merely  a  matter  of  form.  There  is  no 
obeisance  of  spirit  toward  the  higher,  spiritual  influences 
which  surround  him.  This  contrast  of  the  man  with  the 
real  demands  of  his  position  as  a  leader  is  heightened  by 
the  suggestion  that  he  is  unlearned  in  the  classic  language 
of  the  service  and  must  needs  be  enlightened  by  the  more 
learned  servant  who  interprets  the  chant:  "Deposuit  po- 
tentes  de  sede,  et  exaltavit  humiles,"  in  the  words,  "He 
has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat  and  has  exalted 
them  of  low  degree." 

In  this  chant  is  set  the  problem  of  the  poem.  Wealth, 
power,  station  in  life,  may  be  the  results  of  the  accident  of 
birth,  but  real  individual  worth  is  purposed  by  the  inner 
man. 

King  Robert's  lack  of  individual,  intrinsic  worth  is  re- 
vealed in  his  mutterings.  These  mutterings,  too,  imply  the 
challenge  of  the  truth  of  the  chant  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
cerned. This  attitude  of  mind  and  the  challenge  are 
couched  in  the  lines : 

"  'Tis  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue; 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  171 

For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 

There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my  throne!" 

His  contempt  for  things  spiritual  is  shown  in  the  expres- 
sion, ' '  Only  by  priests, ' '  for  the  priest  stands  as  the  leader 
toward  things  spiritual  and  the  mediator  with  the  spirit- 
ual. The  King  in  his  self-sufficiency  does  not  recognize 
the  one  nor  feel  any  need  for  the  other.  This  attitude  of 
contempt  and  indifference  is  further  shown  by  the  line : 

"And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep." 

With  the  closing  of  the  first  stanza  the  problem  is  set 
and  its  character  and  movement  suggested  if  not  defined. 
This  problem  is  to  bring  to  the  consciousness  of  the  King 
the  mighty  truth  of  the  majestic  lines: 

"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 

In  the  second  stanza  a  sharp  contrast  is  presented.  The 
self  assurance  of  King  Robert,  when  possessed  of  wealth 
and  power  and  consciousness  of  position,  has  gone,  and  we 
have  pictured  an  individual  beside  himself  with  fear  and 
anger.  This  fear  and  anger  are  betrayed  by  his  tumultu- 
ous knocking  and  shouting,  which  are  indicative  of  any- 
thing but  kingliness  and  dignified  self-possession.  This 
lack  of  self  assurance  and  dignity  are  shown  in  his  shout 
to  the  Sexton: 

"  Open :  'tis  I,  the  King !    Art  thou  afraid?  " 

and  is  still   further   suggested   by   the   attitude   of   the 
Sexton : 

"  The  frightened  sexton  .  .  . 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal  wide ; n 


172  LITERATURE   IK   THE   SCHOOL 

and  again  in  the  lines: 

"  A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 
Who  .  .  . 

Leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night 
And  vanished." 

Now  the  reader  feels  the  truth  is  being  made  manifest. 
King  Robert  has  been  deprived  of  power,  noted  in  the  ab- 
sence of  his  royal  retinue,  and  of  wealth,  in  being  "  de- 
spoiled of  his  magnificent  attire.  ' '  In  the  repetition  of  the 
opening  lines  of  the  poem  the  reader  is  made  aware  that 
the  ties  of  royal  family  still  bind  him  to  his  kingliness. 

Absence  of  self-possession  is  again  emphasized  in  the 
lines : 

"  Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane, 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bareheaded,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire, 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate; 
Rushed  through  the  courtyard,  thrusting  in  his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 
And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless  speed; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room," 

and  then  the  author  presents  a  magnificent  contrast  be- 
tween the  midnight  blackness  of  the  King 's  despair  and  the 
light  and  peace  in  the  spiritual  presence : 

"Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet  room, 
Blazing  with  light  and   breathing  with  perfume." 


CONTKASTED   STUDIES  173 

In  the  spiritual  presence,  the  Angel  which  should  pos- 
sess the  throne,  King  Robert  is  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  ideal,  a  fact  which  he  has  failed,  and  still  fails,  to  rec- 
ognize. He  is  also  brought  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that 
he  has  been  deprived  of  wealth  and  power  and  position. 
This  truth  does  not  flash  permanently  into  consciousness, 
but  momentarily  only  as  witnessed  in  the  lines: 

"A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 
The  throneless  monarch  on  the  Angel  gazed." 

The  contrast  between  Robert  as  he  is  and  King  Robert  as 
he  ought  to  be  is  mirrored  sharply  in  the  lines: 

"  Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 
With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes." 

This  is  again  intensified  in  the  following  lines : 

"  Who  art  thou,  and  why  comest  thou  here  ?  " 
"  I  am  the  King,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 
From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne." 

In  the  lines : 

"Suddenly  at  these  audacious  words 
Up  sprang  the  angry  guests  and  drew  their  swords," 

the  king  receives  a  further  hint  that  there  is  a  power  which 
has  deprived  him  of  wealth  and  position.  But  hints  are  of 
no  avail,  so  King  Robert  must  needs  become  the  court  fool, 
must  wear  the  jester's  bells  and  scalloped  cape,  must  be- 
come a  servant  to  servants,  in  order  that  he  may  learn  the 
lesson  of  the  littleness  of  selfishness  and  the  largeness  of 
service,  may  learn  that  the  larger  self-ish-ness  is  compassed 
by  the  larger  altruism. 

Pathetic  to  the  spectator,  but  merely  maddening  to  him, 
is  the  fact  that  his  own  followers  are 

"  Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and  prayers," 


174  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

and  so 

"They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs." 

This  Titter  loss  of  the  respect  of  his  former  followers  is 
voiced  in  the  lines : 

"  A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 
And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding  door, 
His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard  with  strange  alarms, 
The  boisterous  laughter  of  his  men-at-arms, 
And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring, 
With  the  mock  plaudits  of  '  Long  live  the  King ! ' " 

In  the  expression,  "his  heart  f ailed, "  there  is  a  sugges- 
tion that  King  Robert  is  coming  to  a  consciousness  of  the 
real  situation  which  confronts  him.  The  "mock  plaudits" 
of  his  followers  seem  to  bring  to  his  consciousness  the  fact 
that  they  fail  to  recognize  anything  kingly  in  King  Robert 
and  therefore  feel  neither  kinship  nor  fellowship  with  him. 
But  the  night  spent  on  a  bed  of  straw  instead  of  on  a  royal 
couch,  surrounded  by  dumb  animals  instead  of  courtly  re- 
tainers, fails  to  bring  a  full  sense  of  the  situation  in  which 
he  is.  He  says,  ' '  It  was  a  dream. ' '  The  external  evidence 
dispels  this  thought  but  fails  to  bring  a  sense  of  humility 
and  self-abnegation. 

King  Robert  has  lost  external  wealth  and  place  and 
power.  He  has  left  the  ties  which  bind  him  to  Emperor 
Valmond  and  Pope  Urbane.  He  has  left,  too,  the  potential 
possibility  of  inherent  worth.  These  family  ties  prevent 
him  from  realizing  the  situation,  noting  the  cause,  effecting 
the  cure.  This  is  well  shown  in  the  stanza  which  tells  that 
during  the  reign  of  the  Angel,  the  spiritual  ideal,  peace 
and  plenty  dwell  in  the  land.  But 

"Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 
Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate," 


CONTRASTED  STUDIES  175 

with  no  thought  of  self-abnegation  or  of  self-regeneration. 

"Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  jesters  wear, 
With  look  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 
Close  shaven  above  the  ears  as  monks  are  shorn, 
By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 
His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 
What  others  left, — he  still  was  unsubdued." 

King  Robert  fails  to  realize  the  limitations  of  self,  and 
therefore  to  grasp  the  significance  of  the  changed  con- 
ditions. 

The  Angel  (of  his  better  nature)  seeks  to  aid  him  to 
remove  this  limitation  by  making  him  face  the  problem  in 
the  question: 

"Art  thou  the  King?" 

but  King  Robert  shows  his  old,  unsubdued,  self-limited 
spirit  in  his  haughty  posture  and  haughtier  reply : 

"lam,  I  am  the  King!" 

and  yet  there  is  a  hint  of  kingliness  and  sense  of  intrinsic 
worth,  a  potential  possibility  in  the  expression: 

"  And  lifting  high  his  forehead  he  would  fling 
The  haughty  answer  back." 

It  borders  on  and  suggests  kingly  self-respect,  a  purposed 
worth. 

The  essentials  of  manhood  develop  slowly.  The  spirit  of 
man  is  not  regenerated  in  a  day.  So  we  are  not  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  three  years  pass  without  any  apparent 
change.  During  these  three  years  King  Robert  has  brooded 
on  his  fancied  wrongs,  depending  upon  the  ties  of  blood 
through  Pope  and  Emperor  to  right  those  wrongs.  An- 
other lesson  is  needed.  The  sustaining  ties  must  be  severed. 

The  author  brings  in  the  summons  from  Emperor  Val- 


176  LITERATURE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

mond  to  meet  Pope  Urbane  at  Rome,  with  dramatic  effect. 
And  in  the  journey,  as  the  royal  summons  is  obeyed,  there 
is  a  sharp  contrast  between  the  royal  splendor  of  the  Angel, 
the  ideal  King,  and  the  wretchedness  of  Robert,  the  real 
King,  "on  piebald  steed  with  shambling  gait"- 

"  Making  huge  merriment  in  all  the  country  towns." 

A  fine  climax  is  reached  as  the  Pope  receives  his  guests 
and 

"Robert,  the  Jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd, 
Into  their  presence  rushed  and  cried  aloud, 
'  I  am  the  King !    Look,  and  behold  in  me 
Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily ! 
This  man  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes, 
Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise ! ' ' 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  exultant  tone  in  which 
these  words  ring  out,  for  King  Robert  had  rested  securely 
all  these  years  in  the  conviction  that  in  the  influence  of  his 
brothers  lay  his  restoration  to  wealth  and  place  and  power. 
Neither  is  it  difficult  to  imagine  his  consternation  and  com- 
plete bewilderment  when  his  brothers  fail  to  respond.  Pa- 
thetic indeed  is  his  final  appeal : 

"Do  you  not  know  me?    Does  no  voice  within 
Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  f  " 

At  this  point  in  the  poem  the  contrast  between  Emperor 
and  Pope  should  be  sharply  noted.  The  Emperor,  the  man 
of  the  world,  laughs  and  says : 

"It  is  strange  sport 
To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  Fool  at  court !  " 

But  the  Pope,  typifying  the  spiritual  influence  of  the  insti- 
tution called  the  church,  whose  mission  it  is  to  find  the 
kingliness  in  every  man  and  therefore  to  recognize  his 
brotherhood : 


CONTRASTED  STUDIES  177 

u  In  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 
Gazed  at  the  AngeFs  countenance  serene." 

Thus  the  last  sustaining  tie  was  severed  and 

"  The  poor,  baffled  Jester  in  disgrace 
Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace." 

This  ends  the  first  movement  of  the  poem  and  irresistibly 
there  is  borne  in  on  consciousness  an  echo  of  the  chant : 

"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat." 
There  remains  of  the  problem  the  fact  that : 
"  He  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 

There  remains,  too,  to  be  taught  the  sublime  lesson  that 
within  man  himself  lies  the  power  and  the  possibility  of 
rising  "On  stepping  stones  of  his  dead  self  to  higher 
things. " 

As  conditions  were  made  hard  for  King  Robert  to  force 
a  realization  of  human  limitations  and  the  emptiness  of 
self-sufficiency,  so  conditions  are  made  easy  for  him  to 
aspire  to  the  higher  things,  to  respond  to  the  uplift  of  spir- 
itual influences,  to  attain  to  the  ideal.  With  artistic  ef- 
fect, the  meeting  with  the  Pope  took  place  on  "Holy 
Thursday/'  With  the  realization  of  his  abjectness,  there 
comes  to  King  Robert  the  significance  of  the  spiritual  up- 
lift of  the  Easter  season  with  its  appeal  to  the  higher 
things  in  life. 

"In  solemn  state  the  Holy  Week  went  by, 
And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky; 
The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  its  light, 
Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright, 
And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men 
Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again." 


178  LITEEATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

This  uplifting  influence,  with  its  suggestiveness,  prepares 
us  for  a  changed  attitude  on  the  part  of  King  Robert. 
Therefore  we  are  not  surprised  when: 

"  Even  the  Jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw, 

With  haggard  eyes"   (denoting  the  travail  of  spirit)   "the  un- 
wonted splendor  saw. 
He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 
And  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor, 
He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord. 
Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward." 

King  Robert  has  now  risen  to  a  full  sense  of  individual 
limitations  and  to  a  responsiveness  to  the  higher  influences 
and  things  of  life. 

Again  the  scene  shifts  and  the  reader  is  transported  back 
to  Sicily,  where  the  final  scene  is  to  be  enacted.  Again  the 
Angel  mounts  the  throne.  Again  he  asks:  "Art  thou  the 
King  ? ' '  But  note  the  change : 

"  King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  meekly  answered  him :  '  Thou  knowest  best ! 
My  sins  as  scarlet  are;  let  me  go  hence, 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones,  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven, 
Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven/  " 

Thus  in  act  and  in  speech  King  Robert  testifies  that  there 
has  taken  place  within  him  an  abiding  regeneration  of 
spirit. 

The  movement  is  now  complete,  and  again  we  hear  the 
chant  of  the  monks: 

"  Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street, 
'  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree.' 
And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  179 

Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string: 
'  I  am  an  Angel  and  thou  art  the  King ! ' " 

The  real  and  the  ideal  are  now  at  one.    So 

"King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 
Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo!  he  was  alone! 
But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old, 
With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold; 
And  when  the  courtiers  came,  they  found  him  there 
Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer." 

Generalizations  upon  the  character  will  be  reserved  until 
the  close  of  the  two  kindred  studies,  "  Job  "  and  "  Saul." 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  from  an  impulse  within,  though  per- 
chance through  struggle  and  pain,  through  sorrow  and  an- 
guish of  spirit,  man  rises  from  the  real,  the  limited,  to  the 
ideal,  the  larger  limitation.  It  may  be  pertinent,  too,  to 
suggest  that  the  Angel  of  a  man's  better  nature,  the  possi- 
bility to  which  he  may  aspire,  is  an  indwelling  spiritual 
possession,  not  an  external  and  wholly  distinct  fact. 


CHAPTER  X 

CONTRASTED  STUDIES  (Continued) 
SAUL 

Said  Abner,  "  At  last  thou  art  come !  Ere  I  tell,  ere  thou  speak, 
Kiss  my  cheek,  wish  me  well ! "  Then  I  wished  it,  and  did  kiss 

his  cheek. 

And  he,  "  Since  the  King,  0  my  friend,  for  thy  countenance  sent, 
Neither  drunken  nor  eaten  have  we;  nor  until  from  his  tent 
Thou  return  with  the  joyful  assurance  the  King  liveth  yet, 
Shall  our  lip  with  the  honey  be  bright,  with  the  water  be  wet. 
For  out  of  the  black  mid-tent's  silence,  a  space  of  three  days, 
Not  a  sound  hath  escaped  to  thy  servants,  of  prayer  nor  of  praise, 
To  betoken  that  Saul  and  the  spirit  have  ended  their  strife, 
And  that,  faint  in  his  triumph,  the  monarch  sinks  back  upon  life. 

"  Yet  now  my  heart  leaps,  0  beloved !  God's  child  with  His  dew 
On  thy  gracious  gold  hair,  and  those  lilies  still  living  and  blue 
Just  broken  to  twine  round  thy  harp-strings,  as  if  no  wild  heat 
Were  now  raging  to  torture  the  desert ! " 

Then  I,  as  was  meet, 

Knelt  down  to  the  God  of  my  fathers,  and  rose  on  my  feet, 
And  ran  o'er  the  sand  burnt  to  powder.     The  tent  was  unlooped; 
I  pulled  up  the  spear  that  obstructed,  and  under  I  stooped ; 
Hands  and  knees  on  the  slippery  grass-patch,  all  withered  and 

gone, 

That  extends  to  the  second  enclosure,  I  groped  my  way  on 
Till  I  felt  where  the  foldskirts  fly  open.     Then  once  more  I 

prayed, 
And  opened  the  foldskirts  and  entered,  and  was  not  afraid, 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  181 

But  spoke,  "  Here  is  David,  thy  servant !  "    And  no  voice  replied. 
At  the  first  I  saw  naught  but  the  blackness;  but  soon  I  descried 
A  something  more  black  than  the  blackness — the  vast,  the  upright 
Main  prop  that  sustains  the  pavilion:  and  slow  into  sight 
Grew  a  figure  against  it,  gigantic  and  blackest  of  all. 
Then  a  sunbeam,  that  burst  through  the  tent-roof,  showed  Saul. 

He  stood  as  erect  as  that  tent-prop,  both  arms  stretched  out  wide 
On  the  great  cross-support  in  the  centre,  that  goes  to  each  side; 
He  relaxed  not  a  muscle,  but  hung  there  as,  caught  in  his  pangs 
And  waiting  his  change,  the  king  serpent  all  heavily  hangs, 
Far  away  fron    his  kind,  in  the  pine,  till  deliverance  come 
With  the  spring-time, — so  agonized  Saul,  drear  and  stark,  blind 
and  dumb. 


Then  I  tuned  my  harp, — took  off  the  lilies  we  twine  round  its 

chords 
Lest  they  snap  'neath  the  stress  of  the  noontide — those  sunbeams 

like  swords! 

And  I  first  played  the  tune  all  our  sheep  know,  as,  one  after  one, 
So  docile  they  come  to  the  pen-door  till  folding  be  done. 
They  are  white  and  untorn  by  the  bushes,  for  lo,  they  have  fed 
Where  the  long  grasses  stifle  the  water  within  the  stream's  bed; 
And  now  one  after  one  seeks  its  lodging,  as  star  follows  star 
Into  eve  and  the  blue  far  above  us, — so  blue  and  so  far! 

—Then  the  tune,  for  which  quails  on  the  cornland  will  each  leave 

his  mate 

To  fly  after  the  player;  then,  what  makes  the  crickets  elate 
Till  for  boldness  they  fight  one  another:   and  then,  what  has 

weight 

To  set  the  quick  jerboa  a-musing  outside  his  sand  house — 
There  are  none  such  as  he  for  a  wonder,  half  bird  and  half  mouse ! 
God  made  all  the  creatures  and  gave  them  our  love  and  our  fear, 
To  give  sign,  we  and  they  are  His  children,  one  family  here. 


182  LITEBATUBE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

Then    I   played   the   help-tune  of  our  reapers,  their  wine-song, 

when  hand 
Grasps  at  hand,  eye  lights  eye  in  good  friendship,  and  great 

hearts  expand 
And  grow  one  in  the  sense  of  this  world's  life. — And  then,  the 

last  song 
When  the  dead  man  is  praised  on  his  journey — "  Bear,  bear  him 

along 
With  his  few  faults  shut  up  like  dead  flowrets !    Are  balm  seeds 

not  here 

To  console  us?    The  land  has  none  left  such  as  he  on  the  bier. 
Oh,  would  we  might  keep  thee,  my  brother ! " — And  then,  the 

glad  chant 
Of  the  marriage, — first  go  the  young  maidens,  next,  she  whom 

we  vaunt 
As  the  beauty,  the  pride  of  our  dwelling. — And  then,  the  great 

march 

Wherein  man  runs  to  man  to  assist  him  and  buttress  an  arch 
Naught  can  break;  who  shall  harm  them,  our  friends?    Then  the 

chorus  intoned 

As  the  Levites  go  up  to  the  altar  in  glory  enthroned. 
But  I  stopped  here :  for  here  in  the  darkness  Saul  groaned. 

And  I  paused,   held  my  breath  in  such  silence,   and  listened 

apart; 
And  the  tent  shook,  for  mighty  Saul  shuddered:  and  sparkles 

'gan  dirt 

From  the  jewels  that  woke  in  his  turban  at  once  with  a  start 
All  its  lordly  male-sapphires,  and  rubies  courageous  at  heart. 
So  the  head:  but  the  body  still  moved  not,  still  hung  there  erect. 
And  I  bent  once  again  to  my  playing,  pursued  it  unchecked, 
As  I  sai)2 


"  Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigor !    No  spirit  feels  waste, 
Not  a  muscle  is  stopped  in  its  playing  nor  sinew  unbraced. 


CONTRASTED  STUDIES  183 

Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living !  the  leaping  from  rock  up  to  rock, 
The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir-tree,  the  cool  silver 

shock 

Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's  living  water,  the  hunt  of  the  bear, 
And  the  sultriness  showing  the  lion  is  couched  in  his  lair. 
And  the  meal,  the  rich  dates  yellowed  over  with  gold  dust  divine, 
And  the  locust-flesh  steeped  in  the  pitcher,  the  full  draught  of 

wine, 

And  the  sleep  in  the  dried  river-channel  where  bulrushes  tell 
That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly  and  well. 
How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere  living!  how  fit  to  employ 
All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in  joy! 
Hast  thou  loved  the  white  locks  of  thy  father,  whose  sword  thou 

didst  guard 

When  he  trusted  thee  forth  with  the  armies,  for  glorious  reward? 
Didst  thou  see  the  thin  hands  of  thy  mother,  held  up  as  men  sung 
The  low  song  of  the  nearly  departed,  and  hear  her  faint  tongue 
Joining  in  while  it  could  to  the  witness,  '  Let  one  more  attest 
I  have  lived,  seen  God's  hand  through  a  lifetime,  and  all  was  for 

best!' 
Then  they  sung  through  their  tears  in  strong  triumph,  not  much, 

but  the  rest. 
And  thy  brothers,  the  help  and  the  contest,  the  working  whence 

grew 
Such  results  as,  from  seething  grape-bundles,  the  spirit  strained 

true: 

And  the  friends  of  thy  boyhood — that  boyhood  of  wonder  and  hope, 
Present  promise  and  wealth  of  the  future  beyond  the  eye's  scope, 
Till  lo,  thou  art  grown  to  a  monarch ;  a  people  is  thine ; 
And  all  gifts,  which  the  world  offers  singly,  on  one  head  combine ! 
On  one  head,  all  the  beauty  and  strength,  love  and  rage  (like  the 

throe 

That,  a-work  in  the  rock,  helps  its  labor  and  lets  the  gold  go) 
High  ambition  and  deeds  which  surpass  it,  fame  crowning  them, — 

all 
Brought  to  blaze  on  the  head  of  one  creature — King  Saul ! " 


184  LITEBATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

And  lo,  with  that  leap  of  my  spirit, — heart,  hand,  harp  and  voice, 
Each  lifting  Saul's  name  out  of  sorrow,  each  bidding  rejoice 
Saul's  fame  in  the  light  it  was  made  for — as  when,  dare  I  say, 
The  Lord's  army,  in  rapture  of  service,  strains  through  its  array, 
And    upsoareth    the    cherubim-chariot — "  Saul ! "    cried    I,    and 

stopped, 
And  waited  the  thing  that  should  follow.    Then  Saul  who  hung 

propped 

By  the  tent's  cross-support  in  the  centre,  was  struck  by  his  name. 
Have  ye  seen  when  Spring's  arrowy  summons  goes  right  to  the 

aim, 

And  some  mountain,  the  last  to  withstand  her,  that  held  (he  alone, 
While  the  vale  laughed  in  freedom  and  flowers)  on  a  broad  bust 

of  stone 
A  year's  snow  bound  about  for  a  breastplate, — leaves  grasp  of 

the  sheet! 

Fold  on  fold  all  at  once  it  crowds  thunderously  down  to  his  feet, 
And  there  fronts  you,  stark,  black,  but  alive  yet,  your  mountain 

of  old, 

With  his  rents,  the  successive  bequeathings  of  ages  untold — 
Yea,  each  harm  got  in  fighting  your  battles,  each  furrow  and  scar 
Of  his  head  thrust  'twixt  you  and  the  tempest — all  hail,  there 

they  are! 

Now  again  to  be  softened  with  verdure,  again  hold  the  nest 
Of  the  dove,  tempt  the  goat  and  its  young  to  the  green  on  his  crest 
For  their  food  in  the  ardors  of  summer.  One  long  shudder  thrilled 
All  the  tent  till  the  very  air  tingled,  then  sank  and  was  stilled 
At  the  King's  self  left  standing  before  me,  released  and  aware. 
What  was  gone,  what  remained?    All  to  traverse  'twixt  hope  and 

despair. 
Death  was  past,  life  not  come:  so  he  waited.    Awhile  his  right 

hand 
Held  the  brow,  helped  the  eyes,  left  too  vacant,  forthwith  to 

remand 
To  their  place   what  new  objects  should   enter:  'twas  Saul  as 

before. 
I  looked  up  and  dared  gaze  at  those  eyes,  nor  was  hurt  any  more 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  185 

Than  by  slow  pallid  sunsets  in  autumn,  ye  watch  from  the  shore, 
At  their  sad  level  gaze  o'er  the  ocean — a  sun's  slow  decline 
Over  hills  which,  resolved  in  stern  silence,  o'erlap  and  entwine 
Base  with  base  to  knit  strength  more  intensely :  so,  arm  folded  arm 
O'er  the  chest  whose  slow  heavings  subsided. 

What  spell  or  what  charm 
(For,  a  while  there  was  trouble  within  me),  what  next  should  I 

urge 
To  sustain  him  where  song  had  restored  him?     Song  filled  to 

the  verge 

His  cup  with  the  wine  of  this  life,  pressing  all  that  it  yields 
Of  mere  fruitage,  the  strength  and  the  beauty:  beyond,  on  what 

fields, 

Glean  a  vintage  more  potent  and  perfect  to  brighten  the  eye 
And  bring  blood  to  the  lip,  and  commend  them  the  cup  they  put 

by? 

He  saith,  "  It  is  good ;  "  still  he  drinks  not :  he  lets  me  praise  life, 
Gives  assent,  yet  would  die  for  his  own  part. 

Then  fancies  grew  rife 
Which  had  come  long  ago  on  the  pasture,  when  round  me  the 

sheep 

Fed  in  silence — above,  the  one  eagle  wheeled  slow  as  in  sleep. 
And  I  lay  in  my  hollow  and  mused  on  the  world  that  might  lie 
'Neath  his  ken,  though  I  saw  but  the  strip  'twixt  the  hill  and  the 

sky. 
And  I  laughed — "  Since  my  days  are  ordained  to  be  passed  with 

my  flocks, 

Let  me  people  at  least,  with  my  fancies,  the  plains  and  the  rocks, 
Dream  the  life  I  am  never  to  mix  with,  and  image  the  show 
Of  mankind  as  they  live  in  those  fashions  I  hardly  shall  know! 
Schemes   of  life,  its  best  rules  and  right  uses,  the  courage  that 

gains, 
And  the  prudence  that  keeps  what  men  strive  for."    And  now 

these  old  trains 


186  LITEKATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Of  vague  thought  came  again;  I  grew  surer;  so,  once  more  the 

string 
Of  my  harp  made  response  to  my  spirit,  as  thus — 


"Yea,  my  King," 

I  began — "  thou  dost  well  in  rejecting  mere  comforts  that  spring 
From  the  mere  mortal  life  held  in  common  by  man  and  by  brute : 
In  our  flesh  grows  the  branch  of  this  life,  in  our  soul  it  bears  fruit. 
Thou  hast  marked  the  slow  rise  of  the  tree, — how  its  stem  trem- 
bled first 

Till  it  passed  the  kid's  lip,  the  stag's  antler;  then  safely  outburst 
The  fan-branches  all  round;  and  thou  mindest  when  these  too,  in 

turn 
Broke  a-bloom  and  the  palm-tree  seemed  perfect:  yet  more  was 

to  learn, 
E'en  the  good  that  comes  in  with  the  palm-fruit.     Our  dates  shall 

we  slight, 
When  their  juice  brings  a  cure  for  all  sorrow?  or  care  for  the 

plight 
Of  the  palm's  self  whose  slow  growth  produced  them?    Not  so! 

stem  and  branch 
Shall  decay,  nor  be  known  in  their  place,  while  the  palm-wine 

shall  stanch 

Every  wound  of  man's  spirit  in  winter.     I  pour  thee  such  wine. 
Leave  the  flesh  to  the  fate  it  was  fit  for !  the  spirit  be  thine ! 
By  the  spirit,  when  age  shall  o'ercome  thee,  thou  still  shalt  enjoy 
More  indeed,  than  at  first  when,  inconscious,  the  life  of  a  boy. 
Crush  that  life,  and  behold  its  wine  running!     Each  deed  thou 

hast  done 

Dies,  revives,  goes  to  work  in  the  world;  until  e'en  as  the  sun 
Looking   down   on   the   earth,   though  clouds  spoil  him,  though 

tempests  efface, 
Can  find  nothing  his  own  deed  produced  not,  must  everywhere 

trace 

The  results  of  his  past  summer-prime, — so,  each  ray  of  thy  will, 
Every  flash  of  thy  passion  and  prowess,  long  over,  shall  thrill 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  187 

Thy  whole  people,  the  countless,  with  ardor,  till  they  too  give 

forth 
A   like  cheer  to  their  sons,  who  in  turn,  fill  the  South  and  the 

North 
With  the  radiance  thy  deed  was  the  germ  of.     Carouse  in  the 

past! 

But  the  license  of  age  has  its  limit;  thou  diest  at  last. 
As  the  lion  when  age  dims  his  eyeball,  the  rose  at  her  height, 
So  with  man — so  his  power  and  his  beauty  forever  take  flight. 
No !  Again  a  long  draught  of  my  soul-wine !    Look  forth  o'er  the 

years! 
Thou   hast   done   now   with  eyes  for  the  actual;  begin  with  the 

seer's ! 

Is  Saul  dead?    In  the  depth  of  the  vale  make  his  tomb — bid  arise 
A  gray  mountain  of  marble  heaped  four-square,  till,  built  to  the 

skies, 
Let  it  mark  where  the  great  First  King  slumbers:  whose  fame 

would  ye  know? 

Up  above  see  the  rock's  naked  face,  where  the  record  shall  go 
In  great  characters  cut  by  the  scribe, — such  was  Saul,  so  he  did; 
With  the  sages  directing  the  work,  by  the  populace  chid, — 
For  not  half,  they'll  affirm,  is  comprised  there!    Which  fault  to 

amend, 
In  the  grove  with  his  kind  grows  the  cedar,  whereon  they  shall 

spend 

(See  in  tablets  'tis  level  before  them)  their  praise,  and  record 
With  the  gold  of  the  graver,  Saul's  story, — the  statesman's  great 

word 

Side  by  side  with  the  poet's  sweet  comment.     The  river's  a-wave 
With  smooth  paper-reeds  grazing  each  other  when  prophet-winds 

rave: 

So  the  pen  gives  unborn  generations  their  due  and  their  part 
In  thy  being !  Then,  first  of  the  mighty,  thank  God  that  thou  art !  " 

And  behold  while  I  sang — but  0  Thou  who  didst  grant  me  that 

day, 
And,  before  it,  not  seldom  hast  granted  Thy  help  to  essay, 


188  LITERATURE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

Carry  on  and  complete  an  adventure, — my  shield  and  my  sword 
In  that  act  where  my  soul  was  Thy  servant,  Thy  word  was  my 

word, — 

Still  be  with  me,  who  then  at  the  summit  of  human  endeavor 
And  scaling  the  highest,  man's  thought  could,  gazed  hopeless  as 

ever 

On  the  new  stretch  of  heaven  above  me — till,  mighty  to  save, 
Just  one  lift  of  Thy  hand  cleared  that  distance — God's  throne 

from  man's  grave! 

Let  me  tell  out  my  tale  to  its  ending — my  voice  to  my  heart 
Which  can  scarce  dare  believe  in  what  marvels  last  night  I  took 

part, 

As  this  morning  I  gather  the  fragments,  alone  with  my  sheep ! 
And  still  fear  lest  the  terrible  glory  evanish  like  sleep, 
For  I  wake  in  the  gray  dewy  covert,  while  Hebron  upheaves 
The  dawn  struggling  with  night  on  his  shoulder,  and  Kidron  re- 
trieves 
Slow  the  damage  of  yesterday's  sunshine. 


I  say  then, — my  song 

While  I  sang  thus,  assuring  the  monarch,  and,  ever  more  strong, 
Made  a  proffer  of  good  to  console  him — he  slowly  resumed 
His  old  motions  and  habitudes  kingly.     The  right  hand  replumed 
His  black  locks  to  their  wonted  composure,  adjusted  the  swathes 
Of  his  turban,  and  see — the  huge  sweat  that  his  countenance 

bathes, 

He  wipes  off  with  the  robe ;  and  he  girds  now  his  loins  as  of  yore, 
And  feels  slow  for  the  armlets  of  price,  with  the  clasp  set  before. 
He  is  Saul,  ye  remember  in  glory, — ere  error  had  bent 
The  broad  brow  from  the  daily  communion  j    and   still,   though 

much  spent 
Be  the  life  and  the  bearing  that  front  you,  the  same,  God  did 

choose, 

To  receive  what  a  man  may  waste,  desecrate,  never  quite  lose. 
So  sank  he  along  by  the  tent-prop,  till,  stayed  by  the  pile 
Of  his  armor  and  war-cloak  and  garments,  he  leaned  there  awhile, 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  189 

And  sat  out  my  singing, — one  arm  round  the  tent-prop  to  raise 
His  bent  head,  and  the  other  hung  slack — till  I  touched  on  the 

praise 

I  foresaw  from  all  men  in  all  time,  to  the  man  patient  there; 
And  thus  ended,  the  harp  falling  forward.     Then  first  I  was 

'ware 

That  he  sat,  as  I  say,  with  my  head  just  above  his  vast  knees 
Which   were   thrust  out  on  each  side  around  me,  like  oak-roots 

which  please 

To  encircle  a  lamb  when  it  slumbers.    I  looked  up  to  know 
If  the  best  I  could  do  had  brought  solace :  he  spoke  not,  but  slow 
Lifted  up  the  hand  slack  at  his  side,  till  he  laid  it  with  care 
Soft  and  grave,  but  in  a  mild  settled  will,  on  my  brow:  through 

my  hair 
The  large  fingers  were  pushed,  and  he  bent  back  my  head,  with 

kind  power — 

All  my  face  back,  intent  to  peruse  it,  as  men  do  a  flower. 
Thus  held  he  me  there  with  his  great  eyes  that  scrutinized  mine — 
And  oh,  all  my  heart  how  it  loved  him!  but  where  was  the  sign? 
I  yearned — "  Could  I  help  thee,  my  father,  inventing  a  bliss, 
I  would  add,  to  that  life  of  the  past,  both  the  future  and  this; 
I  would  give  thee  new  life  altogether,  as  good,  ages  hence, 
As  this  moment, — had  love  but  the  warrant,  love's  heart  to  dis- 
pense ! " 


Then  the  truth  came  upon  me.    No  harp  more — no  song  more! 
outbroke — 


" I  have  gone  the  whole  round  of  creation:  I  saw  and  I  spoke; 
I,  a  work  of  God's  hand  for  that  purpose,  received  in  my  brain 
And  pronounced  on  the  rest  of  his  handwork — returned  him  again 
His  creation's  approval  of  censure:  I  spoke  as  I  saw. 
I  report,  as  a  man  may  of  God's  work — all's  love,  yet  all's  law. 
Now  I  lay  down  the  judgeship  he  lent  me.     Each  faculty  tasked 
To  perceive  him,  has  gained  an  abyss,  where  a  dewdrop  was  asked. 


190  LITEKATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

Have  I  knowledge?  confounded  it  shrivels  at  Wisdom  laid  bare. 
Have  I  forethought?  how  purblind,  how  blank,  to  the  Infinite 

Care! 

Do  I  task  any  faculty  highest,  to  image  success? 
I  but  open  my  eyes, — and  perfection,  no  more  and  no  less, 
In  the  kind  I  imagined,  full-fronts  me,  and  God  is  seen  God 
In  the  star,  in  the  stone,  in  the  flesh,  in  the  soul  and  the  clod. 
And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises  it  too) 
The  submission  of  man's  nothing-perfect  to  God's  all-complete, 
As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  His  feet. 
Yet  with  all  this  abounding  experience,  this  deity  known, 
I  shall  dare  to  discover  some  province,  some  gift  of  my  own. 
There's  a  faculty  pleasant  to  exercise,  hard  to  hoodwink, 
I  am  fain  to  keep  still  in  abeyance  (I  laugh  as  I  think), 
Lest,  insisting  to  claim  and  parade  in  it,  wot  ye,  I  worst 
E'en  the  Giver  in  one  gift. — Behold,  I  could  love  if  I  durst ! 
But  I  sink  the  pretension  as  fearing  a  man  may  overtake 
God's  own  speed  in  the  one  way  of  love:  I  abstain  for  love's 

sake 
— What,  my  soul?  see  thus  far  and  no  farther?  when  doors  great 

and  small, 
Nine-and-ninety  flew   ope  at  our  touch,   should  the  hundredth 

appall? 

In  the  least  things  have  faith,  yet  distrust  in  the  greatest  of  all? 
Do  I  find  love  so  full  in  my  nature,  God's  ultimate  gift, 
That  I  doubt  His  own  love  can  compete  with  it?    Here  the  parts 

shift? 

Here,  the  creature  surpass  the  creator, — the  end,  what  began? 
Would  I  fain  in  my  impotent  yearning  do  all  for  this  man, 
And  dare  doubt  He  alone  shall  not  help  him,  who  yet  alone 

can? 
Would  it  ever  have  entered  my  mind,  the  bare  will,  much  less 

power, 

To  bestow  on  this  Saul  what  I  sang  of,  the  marvellous  dower 
Of  the  life  he  was  gifted  and  filled  with?  to  make  such  a  soul, 
Such  a  body,  and  then  such  an  earth  for  insphering  the  whole  ? 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  191 

And  doth  it  not  enter  my  mind  (as  my  warm  tears  attest) 
These  good  things  being  given,  to  go  on,  and  give  one  more,  the 

best? 

Ay,  to  save  and  redeem  and  restore  him,  maintain  at  the  height 
This  perfection, — succeed,  with  life's  dayspring,  death's  minute 

of  night? 

Interpose  at  the  difficult  minute,  snatch  Saul,  the  mistake, 
Saul,  the  failure,  the  ruin  he  seems  now, — and  bid  him  awake 
From  the  dream,  the  probation,  the  prelude,  to  find  himself  set 
Clear  and  safe  in  new  light  and  new  life, — a  new  harmony  yet 
To  be  run,  and  continued,  and  ended — who  knows? — or  endure! 
The  man  taught  enough  by  life's  dream,  of  the  rest  to  make  sure; 
By  the  pain-throb,  triumphantly  winning  intensified  bliss, 
And  the  next  world's  reward  and  repose,  by  the  struggles  in  this. 

"  I  believe  it !    'Tis  Thou,  God,  that  givest,  'tis  I  who  receive : 

In  the  first  is  the  last,  in  Thy  will  is  my  power  to  believe. 

All's  one  gift:  Thou  canst  grant  it  moreover,  as  prompt  to  my 

prayer, 

As  I  breathe  out  this  breath,  as  I  open  these  arms  to  the  air. 
From  Thy  will  stream  the  worlds,  life  and  nature,  Thy  dread 

Sabaoth : 

I  will  ? — the  mere  atoms  despise  me !     Why  am  I  not  loth 
To  look  that,  even  that  in  the  face  too?    Why  is  it  I  dare 
Think  but  lightly  of  such  impuissance?    What  stops  my  despair? 
This; — 'tis  not  what  man  Does  which  exalts  him,  but  what  man 

Would  do! 
See   the   King — I   would   help   him,  but  cannot,  the  wishes  fall 

through. 

Could  I  wrestle  to  raise  him  from  sorrow,  grow  poor  to  enrich, 
To  fill  up  his  life,  starve  my  own  out,  I  would — knowing  which, 
I  know  that  my  service  is  perfect.  Oh,  speak  through  me  now! 
Would  I  suffer  for  him  that  I  love?  So  wouldst  Thou— so  wilt 

Thou! 

So  shall  crown  Thee  the  topmost,  ineffablest,  uttermost  crown 
And  Thy  love  fill  infinitude  wholly,  nor  leave  up  nor  down 
One  spot  for  the  creature  to  stand  in !     It  is  by  no  breath, 
Turn  of  eye,  wave  of  hand,  that  salvation  joins  issue  with  death ! 


192  LITERATURE   IN  THE  SCHOOL 

As  Thy  love  is  discovered  almighty;  almighty  be  proved 
Thy  power,  that  exists  with  and  for  it,  of  being  beloved! 
He  who  did  most,  shall  bear  most;  the  strongest  shall  stand  the 

most  weak. 

'Tis  the  weakness  in  strength,  that  I  cry  for !  my  flesh,  that  I  seek 
In  the  Godhead !    I  seek  and  I  find  it.     0  Saul,  it  shall  be 
A  Face  like  my  face  that  receives  thee ;  a  Man  like  to  me, 
Thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by,  forever:  a  Hand  like  this  hand 
Shall  throw  open  the  gates  of  new  life  to  thee;  see  the  Christ 

stand!" 

I  know  not  too  well  how  I  found  my  way  home  in  the  night. 

There  were  witnesses,  cohorts  about  me,  to  left  and  to  right, 

Angels,  powers,  the  unuttered,  unseen,  the  alive,  the  aware: 

I  repressed,  I  got  through  them  as  hardly,  as  strugglingly  there, 

As  a  runner  beset  by  the  populace  famished  for  news — 

Life  or  death.     The  whole  earth  was  awakened,  hell  loosed  with 

her  crews; 

And  the  stars  of  night  beat  with  emotion,  and  tingled  and  shot 
Out  in  fire  the  strong  pain  of  pent  knowledge :  but  I  fainted  not, 
For  the  Hand  still  impelled  me  at  once  and  supported,  suppressed 
All  the  tumult,  and  quenched  it  with  quiet,  and  holy  behest, 
Till  the  rapture  was  shut  in  itself,  and  the  earth  sank  to  rest. 
Anon  at  the  dawn,  all  that  trouble  had  withered  from  earth — 
Not  so  much,  but  I  saw  it  die  out  in  the  day's  tender  birth; 
In  the  gathered  intensity  brought  to  the  gray  of  the  hills; 
In  the  shuddering  forests'  held  breath ;  in  the  sudden  wind-thrills ; 
In  the  startled  wild  beasts  that  bore  off,  each  with  eye  sidling  still 
Though  averted  with  wonder  and  dread ;  in  the  birds  stiff  and  chill 
That  rose  heavily  as  I  approached  them,  made  stupid  with  awe: 
E'en  the  serpent  that  slid  away  silent — he  felt  the  new  law. 
The  same  stared  in  the  white  humid  faces  upturned  by  the  flowers ; 
The  same  worked  in  the  heart  of  the  cedar  and  moved  the  vine- 
bowers. 

And  the  brooks  witnessing  murmured,  persistent  and  low, 
With  their  obstinate,  all  but  hushed  voices — "  E'en  so,  it  is  so !  " 

— Robert  Browning 


CONTBASTED   STUDIES  193 

Thought  Analysis: 

The  theme  of  this  masterful  poem  was  suggested  to 
Browning  by  the  14th  to  20th  verses  of  Chapter  XVI  of  the 
First  Book  of  Samuel : 

"  The  spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from  Saul  and  an  evil  spirit 
troubled  him.  .  .  . 

"  And  Saul  said  unto  his  servants,  Provide  me  now  a  man  that 
can  play  well,  and  bring  him  to  me.  .  .  .  And  David  came  to 
Saul  and  stood  before  him.  .  .  . 

"  And  David  took  an  harp,  and  played  with  his  hand :  so  Saul 
was  refreshed,  and  was  well,  and  the  evil  spirit  departed  from 
him." 

David  and  Saul  are  the  central  characters  in  the  poem. 
Abner,  cousin  to  Saul  and  commander  of  the  army,  serves 
to  introduce  David  and  to  indicate  his  task.  David  was 
the  son  of  Jesse  the  Bethlehemite.  He  was  cunning  in  play- 
ing, and  a  mighty  valiant  man,  and  a  man  of  war,  and  pru- 
dent in  matters,  and  a  comely  person,  and  the  Lord  was 
with  him.  Saul  was  the  " Great  First  King"  of  Israel. 
This  sets  the  theme  in  general  time  and  particular  place. 

In  his  abrupt  beginning,  '  *  Said  Abner,  *  At  last  thou  art 
come  V  the  author  stimulates  the  imagination  and  arouses 
the  curiosity.  The  curiosity  thus  aroused  desires  to  know : 
Who  has  come  ?  For  what  purpose  ?  Why  expected  ?  This 
information  is  held  in  abeyance  while  an  oriental  formal 
ceremony  of  salutation  is  complied  with.  After  this  formal 
greeting,  the  author  proceeds  to  gratify  this  curiosity,  to 
state  the  conditions  and  to  set  the  problem. 

In  the  explanatory  remarks  of  Abner  interest  is  aroused 
in  the  problem  which  confronts  David,  and  also  in  the 
means  which  he  may  employ  in  the  solution  of  that  prob- 
lem, the  effects  of  these  means,  and  the  final  outcome  of 


194  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

the  struggle.     The  author  thus  expands  the  original  curi- 
osity into  permanent  interest. 
The  problem  is  set  in  the  lines: 

"  Since  the  King,  0  my  friend,  for  thy  countenance  sent, 
Neither  drunken  nor  eaten  have  we;  nor  until  from  his  tent 
Thou  return  with  the  joyful  assurance  the  King  liveth  yet, 
Shall  our  lip  with  the  honey  be  bright,  with  the  water  be  wet." 

These  lines  convey  the  impression  that  the  need  pertains  to 
the  King  and  that  it  is  an  urgent  need.  The  fasting  is 
indicative  of  the  devotion  of  the  people  to  their  King. 
This  devotion  and  high  regard  are  further  indicated  in  the 
phrase, — "with  the  joyful  assurance,"  which  also  is  ex- 
pressive of  their  hope  and  faith  in  David. 

In  the  lines  which  follow,  demands  are  made  upon  the 
imagination  to  picture  Saul  shut  in  from  his  people  and 
the  light  and  joy  of  life.  His  withdrawal  from  kindred 
and  followers  in  the  tent  within  the  tent  gives  emphasis  to 
the  fact  that  Saul  has  divorced  himself  from  life  relations 
and  fellowship  with  human  kind.  This  withdrawal  from 
sympathy,  and  fellowship  with  his  kind,  is  forcibly  ex- 
pressed in  the  lines: 

"  For  out  of  the  black  mid-tent's  silence,  a  space  of  three  days, 
Not  a  sound  hath  escaped  to  thy  servants,  of  prayer  nor  of  praise, 
To  betoken  that  Saul  and  the  spirit  have  ended  their  strife, 
And  that,  faint  in  his  triumph,  the  monarch  sinks  back  upon  life." 

In  this  last  line  the  assurance  of  confidence  in  the  mon- 
arch's ability  to  triumph  over  the  afflictions  of  the  spirit 
is  expressed,  also  his  need  for  the  sustaining  power  of  life 
relations,  in  the  sympathy  and  support  through  fellowship 
with  human  kind.  This  confidence,  born  of  desire,  is  ac- 
centuated by  confidence  in  David  which  is  expressed  in  the 
exclamation,  "Yet  now  my  heart  leaps,  0  beloved!"  The 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  195 

reader  shares  this  hope  and  faith  in  David's  power  and 
purpose  because  of  his  ready  response  to  the  call  of  Duty. 
The  promptness  of  this  response  is  suggested  by  the  refer- 
ence to  the  harp  with  its  strings  wrapped  and  protected  by 
"those  lilies  still  living  and  blue." 

The  keynote  of  David's  character  is  expressed  in  his  rec- 
ognition of  a  sustaining  power  with  which  he  puts  himself 
in  sympathetic  relationship.  This  recognition  is  voiced  in 
the  expression: 

"  Then  I,  as  was  meet, 
Knelt  down  to  the  God  of  my  fathers," 

His  full  confidence  in  the  sustaining  grace  of  this  power 
is  beautifully  indicated  in  the  remainder  of  the  sentence : 

" .  .  .  .  and  rose  on  my  feet, 
And  ran  o'er  the  sand  burnt  to  powder." 

At  this  point  in  the  development  of  the  theme  the  atten- 
tion is  directed  back  to  Saul  and  the  fact  that  he  is  out  of 
harmony  with  all  the  relations  that  make  up  the  normal 
life.  This  unnatural  condition  of  Saul  is  intensified  by 
contrast  with  David,  who,  as  he  surmounts  the  obstacles 
which  Saul  has  placed  between  himself  and  life  and  has 
come  face  to  face  with  his  problem,  says: 

".  .  .  .  Then  once  more  I  prayed, 

And  opened  the  f oldskirts  and  entered,  and  was  not  afraid 

But  spoke,  '  Here  is  David,  thy  servant ! '  And  no  voice  replied" 

Out  of  relationship  with  life  and  living,  Saul  fails  to  re- 
spond to  human  influence  and  human  appeal. 

In  this  whole  stanza  is  made  a  splendid  appeal  to  the 
imagination  which  should  be  exercised  to  the  fullest  extent. 
The  desert  country  with  its  "sand  burnt  to  powder/'  "the 
slippery  grass-patch,  all  withered  and  gone,"  the  tent 


196  LITERATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

within  the  tent,  the  pitchy  blackness,  the  "something  more 
black  than  the  blackness/'  the  main  prop  of  the  pavilion, 
the  figure  against  it,  the  sunbeam  bursting  through  the  tent- 
roof — all  give  in  a  vivid  way  the  individual  setting  in  place 
in  which  the  theme  is  to  unfold.  Symbolic,  too,  is  the  dark- 
ness. Saul  is  enshrouded  in  the  midnight  blackness  of 
despair  and  hopelessness  and  despondency  of  spirit.  David 
must  grope  his  way  through  these  clouds  of  uncertainty 
and  doubt  and  darkness,  must  dispel  the  forces  of  dark- 
ness and  doubt,  must  illumine  the  mind  and  spirit  of  the 
Great  Ruler.  In  these  lines  are  recorded  the  strokes  of  the 
word-painter  poet. 

The  intensity  of  the  struggle,  the  soul-tension,  is  vividly 
portrayed  in  the  picture  of  Saul,  with  arms  outstretched, 
erect,  tense,  motionless,  veritably  nailed  to  his  cross.  "So 
agonized  Saul,  drear  and  stark,  blind  and  dumb." 

Here,  then,  is  set  the  problem  and  the  task  of  David.  He 
must  take  Saul  from  this  cross  of  agony;  restore  him  to  a 
sense  of  life  and  life  relations;  make  him  conscious  and 
appreciative  of  his  opportunities  with  their  concomitant 
responsibilities.  The  movement  of  the  poem  sets  forth  the 
means  employed  by  David  to  accomplish  this  change  in 
Saul,  and  their  effects  in  the  solution  of  the  problem. 

Most  artistically  does  the  author  again  call  to  mind  the 
readiness  with  which  David  has  responded  to  the  call  of 
Duty  by  once  more  referring  to  the  "lilies,  fresh  and 
blue,"  and  referring  also  to  the  "sunbeams  like  swords" 
which  soon  would  have  withered  them. 

"  Then  I  tuned  my  harp, — took  off  the  lilies  we  twine  round  its 

chords 
Lest  they  snap  'neath  the  stress  of  the  noontide — those  sunbeams 

like  swords ! " 

The  art  of  the  movement  lies  in  the  exquisite  diversity  of 


CONTBASTED   STUDIES  197 

the  song  and  the  versatility  of  the  singer.  First  there  is 
the  musical  note  of  appeal — the  soothing,  calling  note  em- 
ployed by  the  shepherd  to  draw  home  his  flock  at  eventide. 
It  is  employed  by  David  to  arrest  the  attention  of  Saul 
instinctively— even  as  other  animals,  dumb  of  spirit,  in- 
stinctively attend  and  respond.  This  call  to  the  passive 
attention  is  indicated  in  the  lines: 

"  And  I  first  played  the  tune  all  our  sheep  know,  as  one  after  one, 
So  docile  they  come  to  the  pen-door  till  folding  be  done." 

From  the  appeal  of  the  soothing,  calling  note,  the  tune 
changes  to  the  livelier  calling  note 

"  For  which  quails  in  the  cornland  will  each  leave  his  mate, 
To  fly  after  the  player." 

Then  the  music  changes  to  a  lively,  spirited  movement  that 

— "  makes  crickets  elate 
Till  for  boldness  they  fight  one  another." 

Again  the  music  shifts  to  a  drowsy,  soothing  theme  which 

"  has  weight 
To  set  the  quick  jerboa  a-musing  outside  his  sand  house." 

At  this  point  the  author  interrupts  the  flow  of  the  theme 
as  it  pertains  to  David  and  his  problem  of  furnishing  the 
means  to  effect  the  regeneration  of  Saul,  to  emphasize  the 
unnaturalness  of  Saul's  attempt  to  live  in  defiance  of — or 
indifference  to  —  the  established  and  wisely  ordered  rela- 
tions of  life.  This  he  does  with  artistic  effect  in  the  lines : 

"  God  made  all  the  creatures  and  gave  them  our  love  and  our  fear, 
To  give  sign  we  and  they  are  his  children,  one  family  here." 

From  the  appeal  to  the  dumb  instincts  of  life  the  singer 
turns  to  the  theme  of  human  relationships  in  every  phase 
and  form  and  to  the  need  of  human  fellowship  in  all  the 


198  LITERATUBE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

ways  of  life.  The  force  and  power  of  this  outburst  of 
music,  with  its  shifting,  varied  theme,  are  best  expressed 
by  the  author: 

"  Then  I  played  the  help-tune  of  our  reapers  "  .  .  .  , 

"  Then   the   last   song  when   the  dead  man  is  praised  on  his 

journey,"  .  .  . 

"  Then  the  glad  chant  of  the  marriage,"  .  .  . 
"  Then  the  great  march  "... 

the  martial  note  with  its  stirring  appeal  to  active  service 
for  home  and  country. 

"  Then  the  chorus  intoned 
As  the  Levites  go  up  to  the  altar  in  glory  enthroned." 

In  this  movement  the  gamut  of  life  has  been  run.  In 
labor  and  recreation,  in  joy  and  in  sorrow,  in  the  stress 
and  strain  of  war,  in  the  fervor  of  religious  devotion,  in 
everything  pertaining  to  life  temporal  and  life  spiritual, 
there  is  an  imperative  need  for  human  fellowship  and  hu- 
man relationships.  There  is  imperative  need,  too,  for  mu- 
tual dependence,  for  mutual  sharing  and  serving. 

The  reader  is  prepared  for  the  effect  of  this  passionate 
outburst  by  the  abrupt  breaking  off  as  indicated  in : 

"But  I  stopped  here:  for  here  in  the  darkness  Saul  groaned." 

The  attention  of  the  great  monarch  has  been  secured. 
His  emotions  and  intellect  have  responded  to  the  appeal. 
He  has  recognized  the  forcefulness  of  the  mighty  truths  of 
human  life  with  its  manifold  relations  as  voiced  by  the 
gifted  harper.  But  he  does  not  surrender  himself  to  this 
fellowship  and  these  relationships  of  human  life. 

"And   I   paused,    held   my   breath  in  such  silence,  and  listened 

apart; 
And  the  tent  shook,  for  mighty  Saul  shuddered:  and  sparkles 

'gan  dart 


CONTRASTED    STUDIES  199 

From  the  jewels  that  woke  in  his  turban  at  once  with  a  start, 
All  its  lordly  male-sapphires  and  rubies  courageous  at  heart. 
So  the  head;  but  the  body  moved  not." 

Progress  has  been  recorded,  but  the  task  is  unfinished,  the 
problem  unsolved. 

The  theme  shifts.  Up  to  this  point  the  song  has  been  the 
song  of  life  in  general — now  it  becomes  the  life  of  man  in 
particular.  In  the  first  part  of  this  new  movement  is  por- 
trayed the  joy  of  mere  physical  life — the  eating  and  drink- 
ing, and  sleeping,  the  sports  and  recreations  and  trials  of 
strength,  all  testify  to  the  joy  and  intensity  of  physical 
being.  To  this  theme  the  harper  returns  again  and  again, 
as  witnessed  in  the  expressions : 

"  Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigor ! "  .  .  . 

"  Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living !  "  .  .  . 

"  How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere  living !  how  fit  to  employ 

All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in  joy ! " 

But  suddenly,  with  climactic  effect  the  singer  changes  the 
theme  from  the  mere  joys  of  living  to  the  more  significant 
theme  of  the  responsibilities  which  go  with  life.  He  directs 
the  attention,  through  the  theme,  with  consummate  art,  to 
the  hopes  and  aspirations,  to  the  aims  and  ambitions,  to  the 
opportunities  and  responsibilities  of  Saul's  own  individual 
life.  In  a  particular  and  profoundly  significant  sense, 
David  emphasizes  the  relationships  and  fellowships,  the 
hopes  and  ambitions,  the  opportunities  and  responsibilities 
which  attend  each  individual  life  and  which  must  find 
being  and  significance  in  the  joys  of  living.  This  personal 
appeal  is  voiced  in  the  lines : 

"  Hast  thou  loved  the  white  locks  of  thy  father  whose  sword  thou 

didst  guard, 
When   he  trusted   thee   forth  with   the  armies  for  a   glorious 

reward?" 


200  LITEKATUKE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

Out  of  these  human  and  individual  relations  had  come 
Saul's  opportunities  to  gratify  his  ambitions,  but  with  the 
opportunities  came  the  inevitable  responsibilities — as  in- 
dicated in : 

"Who  trusted  thee  forth  with  the  armies; 
Whose  sword  thou  didst  guard." 

Saul's  obligation  to  family  and  his  individual  responsi- 
bility for  family  standards  are  still  further  intensified  by 
the  beautiful  allusion  to  his  mother  as  she  is  about  to  pass 
through  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death : 

"  Didst  thou  see  the  thin  hands  of  thy  mother,  held  up  as  men  sung 
The  low  song  of  the  nearly  departed,  and  hear  her  faint  tongue 
Joining  in  while  it  could  to  the  witness,  '  Let  one  more  attest 
I  have  lived,  seen  God's  hand  through  a  lifetime;'  (of  joy  and 

sorrow,  of  opportunity  and  responsibility],  l  and  all  was 

for  best '!» 

This  theme  of  personal  responsibility  is  further  extended 
to  brothers  and  friends,  to  the  promises  and  fulfillment  of 
a  wonderful  boyhood: 

"  Till  lo,  thou  art  grown  to  a  monarch ;  a  people  is  thine ; 

And  all  gifts,"   (which  the  world  usually  distributes  among  the 

many),  "on  one  head  combine! 

On  one  head  all  the  beauty  and  strength,  love  and  rage,  ... 
High  ambition  and  deeds  which  surpass  it,  fame  crowning  them, 

—all 
Brought  to  blaze  on  the  head  of  one  creature, — King  Saul ! " 

In  this  splendid,  climactic  outburst  is  voiced  the  fact 
that  place  and  position  and  wealth  and  power  combine  to 
express  the  one  sublime  truth  of  individual  responsibility. 
And  with  this  splendid  uplift  of  vision  and  superb  out- 
burst the  harper  cried :  ' '  Saul !  ' ' 

"and  stopped 
"  And  waited  the  thing  that  should  follow." 


CONTBASTED  STUDIES  201 

In  the  intense  appeal  to  the  imagination  which  follows, 
in  which  Saul  is  likened  to  a  vast,  isolated  mountain  peak 
which,  too,  seems  divorced  from  the  relationships  of  life, 
the  mind  is  led  to  Saul  released,  restored  to  life  in  a  passive 
sense.  He  has  become  sensitive  to  the  opportunities  and 
responsibilities  of  life  but  he  has  not  been  persuaded  to 
actively  seize  the  one  or  to  courageously  bear  the  other. 
Much  progress  has  been  made  in  the  unfolding  of  the  theme 
in  thus  arousing  Saul  to  a  recognition  of  the  demands  of 
life.  There  is  now  set  the  new  problem  of  giving  him  a 
fit  incentive  for  actively  participating  in  the  relationships 
and  the  demands  of  life,  and  of  convincing  him  that  life 
is  purposeful  activity,  not  mere  passivity. 

In  "girding  up  his  soul's  loins"  for  this  new  test  of 
strength  and  ability,  David  gives  a  forcible  suggestion  of 
the  value  of  reserved  strength  or  power.  He  intimates  his 
purposing  to  draw  upon  a  reserve  which  he  had  built  up 
during  his  hours  and  days  of  leisure  as  he  lay  on  the 
meadow  with  face  to  the  sky  while  his  flocks  fed  in  peace 
and  harmony  about  him.  These  hours  were  spent — this 
reserve  was  built  up — in  the  contemplation  of  life  and  its 
relationships  at  their  highest  and  best.  These  meditations 
he  voices  in: 

"  Schemes  of  life,  its  best  rules  and  right  uses,  the  courage  that 

gains 
And  the  prudence  that  keeps  what  men  strive  for." 

On  this  reserve  he  now  confidently  draws  in  his  hour  of 
need. 

"  And  now  those  old  trains 
Of  vague  thoughts  came  again;  I  grew  surer." 

And  now  with  a  mighty  leap  David  rises  from  the  theme 
of  individual  relationships  and  temporal  responsibility  to 
the  universal  relationships  and  spiritual  responsibility. 


202  LITEKATUBE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

He  lifts  the  theme  from  a  contemplation  of  finite  to  the  con- 
templation of  infinite  relationships. 

After  commending  the  attitude  of  the  King  toward 
life  in : 

" '  thou  dost  well  in  rejecting  mere  comforts  that  spring 
From  the  mere  mortal  life/  "... 

David  rises  to  his  higher  theme: 

"  Leave  the  flesh  to  the  fate  it  was  fit  for !  the  spirit  be  thine ! " 

Then  in  a  sublime  outburst  the  singer  voices  the  sentiment 
or  idea  that  in  the  infinite  reaches  of  time  there  is  no  escape 
from  the  consequences  and  the  responsibilities  of  individ- 
ual life: 

" '  Each  deed  thou  hast  done, 
Dies,  revives,  goes  to  work  in  the  world;  .  .  . 

— so,  each  ray  of  thy  will, 

Every  flash  of  thy  passion  and  prowess,  long  over,  shall  thrill 
Thy  whole  people,  the  countless,  with  ardor,  till  they  too  give 

forth 
A  like  cheer  to  their  sons:  who  in  turn,  fill  the  South  and  the 

North 
With  the  radiance  thy  deed  was  the  germ  of!'" 

From  the  responsibilities  of  home  and  family  life,  the 
theme  has  risen  to  the  responsibilities  of  life  universal. 
From  the  responsibilities  of  past  and  present  the  theme 
directs  the  attention  to  the  inevitable  responsibilities  of  the 
future : 

"'Look  forth  o'er  the  years! 

Thou  hast  done  now  with  eyes  for  the  actual :  begin  with  the 
seer's!'" 

Then  follows  the  vivid  picture  of  Saul's  death,  his  tomb, 
the  record  of  his  life,  the  attitude  of  his  followers. 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  203 

"  '  Saul's  story,  —  the  statesman's  great  word 
Side  by  side  with  the  poet's  sweet  comment/" 


And 


"  '  The  pen  gives  unborn  generations  their  due  and  their  part 
In  thy  being!     Then,  first  of  the  mighty,  thank  God  that  thou 
art!'" 

In  this  closing  line  are  revealed  the  full  dignity  and  worth 
of  individual  life.  It  is  the  realization  of  this  dignity  and 
worth  in  a  sublime  sense  which  discovers  Saul  to  himself. 
The  effect  of  this  realization  and  the  effect  of  this  uplift 
are  revealed  in  the  expression: 

"  He  slowly  resumed 
His  old  motions  and  habitudes  kingly." 

With  this  return  of  self-possession  and  self-respect  : 

"  The  right  hand  replumed 
His  black  locks  .  .  .  adjusted  the  swathes 

Of  his  turban,  .  .  .  the  huge  sweat  that  his  countenance  bathes 
He  wipes  off  with  the  robe  ;  and  he  girds  now  his  loins  as  of  yore, 
And  feels  slow  for  the  armlets  of  price,  with  the  clasp  set  before, 
He  is  Saul,  ye  remember  in  glory,  —  ere  error  had  bent 
The  broad  brow  from  the  daily  communion,  .  .  . 
.  .  .  the  same  God  did  choose, 
To  receive  what  a  man  may  waste,  desecrate,  never  quite  lose." 

This  last  expression  suggests  the  majestic  truth  of  the 
lesser  poet: 

"  In  the  godlike  wreck  of  nature 
Sin  doth  in  the  sinner  leave, 
That  he  may  regain  the  stature 
He  hath  lost." 

Saul  has  thus  been  restored.    Has  he  been  sustained? 
This  is  to  be  determined  by  the  test  of  David  's  sincerity 


204  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

and  guilelessness.  This  test  is  made  as  Saul  relaxed  beside 
David,  pushed  his  fingers  through  David's  hair,  bent  back 
David's  face  so  that  he  might  gaze  into  it,  study  it,  and 
study  also  the  purpose,  the  sincerity,  the  truth,  the  man- 
hood back  of  it. 

"  He  sat,  as  I  say,  with  my  head  just  above  his  vast  knees 

....  and  he  bent  back  my  head,  with  kind  power — 

Thus  held  he  me  there  with  his  great  eyes  that  scrutinized  mine." 

David  rings  true  to  this  test  and  assures  Saul  that  back  of 
his  songs,  his  message,  are  the  promptings  of  the  love  of 
man  for  fellow-man.  With  this  assurance  there  rushes 
into  consciousness  the  majestic  truth  that  all  the  relation- 
ships of  life,  human  and  divine,  find  their  being  and  sig- 
nificance in  eternal  Love  and  Law. 

The  movement,  dealing  with  the  restoring  and  sustaining 
of  Saul  to  the  dignity  of  manhood  and  the  responsibilities 
of  life,  has  been  completed.  There  remains  the  completion 
of  the  theme,  which  gives  dignity  and  worth  to  life  and  its 
relations,  and  which  also  gives  being  and  significance  to 
the  sustaining  power  of  David.  In  this  final  movement  the 
climax  of  the  theme  as  a  whole  is  reached.  This  movement 
within  the  movement  has  been  hinted  at  in  the  general  un- 
folding of  the  theme.  This  movement  suggests  that  human 
relationships  with  their  opportunities  and  responsibilities 
find  their  worth  and  being  in  spiritual  relationships;  that 
these  finite  relationships,  passing  out  of  their  limitations, 
find  their  being  and  significance  in  the  infinite  relations 
which  are  established  in  infinite  Love  and  infinite  Law. 

This  movement  toward  the  sustaining  power  was  first 
hinted  at  in  the  line: 
"  Then  I,  as  was  meet,  knelt  down  to  the  God  of  my  fathers." 

and  again  in: 

"  Then  once  more  I  prayed." 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  205 

It  is  again  approached  in  the  expression: 

"  God  made  all  the  creatures  and  gave  them  our  love  and  our  fear, 
To  give  sign  we  and  they  are  his  children,  one  family  here." 

It  again  finds  expression  in  the  testimony  of  Saul 's  mother : 

"'Let  one  more  attest 

I  have  lived,  seen  God's  hand  through  a  lifetime,  and  all  was  for 
best!'" 

and  again  in  David's  outburst: 

"  0  Thou,  ...  my  shield  and  my  sword, 
Still  be  with  me." 

These  relations  of  the  finite  with  the  infinite  seem  based 
upon  the  unexpressed  fact  that,  if  created  in  the  image  and 
likeness  of  his  Maker,  the  finite  wills  in  kind,  but  not  in 
degree,  with  the  infinite.  In  one  of  his  inspired  outbursts 
David  expresses  his  belief  in  this  likeness  in  kind,  but  dif- 
ference in  degree,  of  the  finite  and  the  infinite: 

" '  I  but  open  my  eyes  and  perfection  no  more  and  no  less, 
In  the  kind  I  imagined,  full-fronts  me,  and  God  is  seen  God 
In  the  star,  in  the  stone,  in  the  flesh,  in  the  soul  and  the  clod. 
And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises  it  too) 
The  submission  of  man's  nothing-perfect  to  God's  all-complete, 
As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  his  feet.' " 

Again  David  emphasizes  this  truth : 

" '  Do  I  find  love  so  full  in  my  nature,  God's  ultimate  gift, 
That  I  doubt  his  own  love  can  compete  with  it  ? ' ' 

The  full  force  of  God's  love  and  purpose  are  revealed,  as 
the  poet  sings: 

"  <  I  believe  it !    'Tis  Thou,  God,  that  givest,  'tis  I  who  receive, 
In  the  first  is  the  last,  in  Thy  will  is  my  power  to  believe. 
From  Thy  will  stream  the  worlds,' " 


206  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

and  in  this  comparison  between  the  finite  and  the  infinite 
will  is  implied  the  idea  that  man's  ought-to-be  coincides 
with  God's  is. 

"  *  'Tis  not  what  man  Does  that  exalts  him,  but  what  man  Would 
do!'" 

With  this  sublime  assurance  that  the  finite  is  compassed  by 
— but  like  unto — the  infinite,  David  voices  his  final  appeal 
to  Saul  to  assure  him  that  David  at  his  best  is,  after  all, 
merely  an  instrument  of  the  infinite  in  restoring  and  sus- 
taining Saul: 

"  <  0  Saul,  it  shall  be 

A  Face  like  my  face  that  receives  thee,  a  Man  like  to  me 
Thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by  forever!  a  Hand  like  this  hand 
Shall  throw  open  the  gates  of  new  life  to  thee!     See  the  Christ 
stand! '" 

Thus  ends  the  theme.  The  dignity  of  life  with  its  re- 
sponsibilities past,  present  and  future,  finite  and  infinite, 
together  with  the  sustaining  power  of  God's  love  and  law, 
restore  and  sustain  life;  give  incentive,  dignity  and  worth 
to  that  life  with  all  of  its  relationships,  human  and  divine. 

The  remainder  of  the  poem  but  attests  that  all  nature, 
when  rightly  seen,  appreciated  and  understood,  attests  the 
truth  already  voiced: 

"  All's  love,  yet  all's  law." 


CHAPTEE  XI 

CONTRASTED  STUDIES   (Continued) 

THE  BOOK  OF  JOB 
Thought  Analysis: 

THE  facts  pertaining  to  this  great  Hebrew  masterpiece 
group  themselves  about  Job  and  his  conception  of  life,  its 
relationships,  its  opportunities  and  responsibilities.  To 
estimate  these  facts  in  relation  it  is  necessary  to  define  some 
organizing  principle  about  which  they  may  shape,  fashion 
and  extend  themselves.  All  the  facts  of  this  great  dra- 
matic poem  may  group  themselves  about  Job  and  his  con- 
ception of  life.  To  estimate  correctly  this  conception  the 
following  determining  factors  may  be  noted:  A  man's  con- 
ception of  the  universe  and  of  his  relation  to  that  universe 
may  be  estimated  (1)  by  his  word;  (2)  by  his  act;  (3)  by 
his  attitude  toward  others;  (4)  by  what  others  say  to  him; 
(5)  by  what  others  say  of  him;  (6)  by  the  attitude  of 
others  toward  him;  (7)  by  his  attitude  toward  himself  and 
God.  These  factors  must  be  considered  in  the  days  of  his 
prosperity  and  also  in  the  days  of  his  adversity. 

The  opening  scene  of  the  poem  locates  the  drama  in  place 
and  defines  the  principal  character: 

"  There  was  a  man  in  the  land  of  Uz,  whose  name  was  Job ; 
and  that  man  was  perfect  and  upright,  and  one  that  feared  God 
and  eschewed  evil." 

This  scene  presents  Job  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity. 


208  LITEBATUBE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

His  station  in  life  may  be  classified  briefly:  Family,  seven 
sons  and  three  daughters;  wealth,  seven  thousand  sheep, 
three  thousand  camels,  five  hundred  yoke  of  oxen,  and  five 
hundred  she-asses;  power,  the  direction  of  a  very  great 
household. 

The  scene  is  of  a  social  gathering.    After  the  festivities, 

"  Job  offered  burnt  offerings  according  to  the  number, '  for  some 
of  my  sons  may  have  sinned  against  God/  " 

This  is  Job  the  ritualist. 

The  second  scene  is  before  the  throne  of  the  Almighty. 
God  addresses  Satan: 

"  Hast  thou  considered  my  servant  Job,  a  perfect  and  an  up- 
right man,  one  that  f eareth  God  and  escheweth  evil  ?  " 

And  Satan  sets  the  problem  of  the  drama  as  he  replies : 

"Doth  Job  serve  God  for  nought?  Thou  hast  hedged  him 
about;  thou  hast  blest  the  work  of  his  hands;  touch  all  that  he 
hath  and  he  will  curse  thee." 

"  The  Lord  said :  All  that  he  hath  is  in  thy  hands,  but  touch 
not  him." 

The  scene  shifts  back  to  the  land  of  Uz. 

"And  there  was  a  day  when  his  sons  and  his  daughters  were 
eating  and  drinking  wine  in  their  eldest  brother's  house : 

"And  there  came  a  messenger  unto  Job,  and  said:  The  oxen 
were  plowing  and  the  asses  feeding  beside  them : 

"And  the  Sabeans  fell  upon  them  and  took  them  away;  yea, 
they  have  slain  the  servants  with  the  edge  of  the  sword;  and  I 
only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

"  While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and  said, 
The  fire  of  God  is  fallen  from  heaven,  and  hath  burned  up  the 
sheep,  and  the  servants  and  consumed  them;  and  I  only  am  es- 
caped alone  to  tell  thee. 

"  While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and  said, 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  209 

The  Chaldeans  made  out  three  bands,  and  fell  upon  the  camels, 
and  have  carried  them  away,  yea,  and  slain  the  servants  with  the 
edge  of  the  sword;  and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee. 

"  While  he  was  yet  speaking,  there  came  also  another,  and  said, 
Thy  sons  and  thy  daughters  were  eating  and  drinking  wine  in 
their  eldest  brother's  house: 

"  And,  behold,  there  came  a  great  wind  from  the  wilderness, 
and  smote  the  four  corners  of  the  house,  and  it  fell  upon  the 
young  men  and  they  are  dead;  and  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to 
tell  thee." 

In  this  scene  Job  is  put  to  the  test  regarding  his  affec- 
tions, his  wealth,  his  station  in  life.  He  rent  his  mantle, 
shaved  his  head,  and  fell  down  and  worshipped, 

"And  said,  the  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

In  these  external  afflictions  he  rings  true  to  the  test :  Job 
doth  serve  God  for  nought. 

Back  to  heaven  the  scene  shifts.  Again  Satan  came  be- 
fore the  Lord  and  the  Lord  said: 

"  My  servant  Job  is  a  perfect  and  upright  man,  and  though 
thou  movedst  me  against  him  to  destroy  him,  yet  he  holdeth  fast 
his  integrity.  But  Satan  replied:  All  that  a  man  hath  will  he 
give  for  his  life;  touch  his  flesh  and  bone  and  he  will  curse  thee." 

"  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  Behold,  he  is  in  thine  hand : 
but  save  his  life." 

Satan  smote  Job  with  sore  boils  from  the  sole  of  his  foot 
unto  his  crown  and  Job  groveled  in  the  ashes.  His  wife 
said  unto  him: 

"Dost  thou  still  retain  thine  integrity?  curse  God,  and  die. 
"  But  he  said  unto  her,  What !  shall  we  receive  good  at  the 
hand  of  God  and  shall  we  not  receive  evil  ?  " 

And  Job  sinned  not. 


210  LITEBATUEE  IN   THE   SCHOOL 

But  in  his  lamentations  Job  exclaims : 

"  Man  that  is  born  of  woman  is  of  few  days  and  full  of  trou- 
ble. He  cometh  like  a  flower  and  is  cut  down;  he  fleeth  like  a 
shadow  and  continueth  not." 

So  Job  cursed  the  day  of  his  birth  and  longed  for  death. 

"  There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling;  and  there  the  weary 
be  at  rest." 

Into  his  lamentations  there  crept  the  old  fatalistic  idea 
of  a  just  balancing  of  good  with  evil  as  voiced  in  his 
protest : 

"  I  was  not  in  safety,  neither  had  I  rest,  neither  was  I  quiet, 
yet  trouble  came." 

This  lamentation  portrays  his  agony  of  soul  through  his 
bodily  afflictions.  The  test  of  his  integrity  through  the 
flesh  was  intense,  pitiless,  but  again  he  rings  true :  Job  doth 
serve  God  for  nought. 

In  the  next  scene,  located  in  the  same  place,  there  is  the 
test  of  the  spirit  through  the  admonishings,  reproofs  and 
warnings  of  his  three  friends  and  counsellors,  Eliphaz  the 
Temanite;  Bildad  the  Shuhite;  and  Zophar  the  Naamath- 
ite.  The  counselings,  admonishings,  reproofs  of  these  three 
friends  may  be  summed  up  briefly: 

"Whoever  perished,  being  innocent,  or  where  were  the  right- 
eous cut  off?  " 

"  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God  ?  Shall  a  man  be 
more  pure  than  his  Maker?" 

"Affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the  dust,  neither  doth  trouble 
spring  out  of  the  ground." 

"Behold,  happy  is  the  man  whom  God  correcteth;  therefore 
despise  not  thou  the  chastening  of  the  Almighty." 

"Doth  God  pervert  judgment?  or  doth  the  Almighty  pervert 
justice?" 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  211 

"  Can  the  rush  grow  up  without  mire  ?  can  the  flag  grow  with- 
out water?  " 

"  Whilst  it  is  yet  in  its  greenness  and  not  cut  down,  it  withereth 
before  any  other  herb." 

"  So  are  the  paths  of  all  who  forget  God." 

"  Behold,  God  will  not  cast  away  a  perfect  man,  neither  will  he 
help  the  evil  doers." 

"  Should  a  wise  man  utter  vain  knowledge  ?  Should  he  reason 
with  unprofitable  talk?" 

"  He  shall  neither  have  son  nor  nephew  among  his  people,  nor 
any  remaining  in  his  dwellings." 

"  Surely  such  are  the  dwellings  of  the  wicked,  and  this  is  the 
place  of  him  that  knoweth  not  God." 

"  The  triumph  of  the  wicked  is  short,  and  the  joy  of  the  hypo- 
crite but  for  a  moment." 

Thus  did  his  friends  admonish  and  reprove,  but  thus, 
also,  did  Job  answer  and  justify  himself : 

"How  forcible  are  right  words!  but  what  doth  your  arguing 
reprove? 

"  My  face  is  foul  with  weeping,  and  on  my  eyelids  is  the  shadow 
of  death ; 

"  Not  for  any  injustice  in  my  hands ;  also  my  prayer  is  pure." 

Then  in  a  masterful  outburst,  Job  voices  his  need  for 
human  sympathy  and  comfort  in  his  affliction,  but  majes- 
tically attests  his  sense  of  his  integrity  and  intrinsic  worth. 

"  Have  pity  upon  me !  Have  pity  upon  me !  0  ye  my  friends, 
for  the  hand  of  God  hath  touched  me. 

"  Why  do  ye  persecute  me  as  God,  and  are  not  satisfied  with 
my  flesh? 

"  Oh,  that  my  words  were  now  written !  oh,  that  they  were 
printed  in  a  book ! 

"  That  they  were  graven  with  an  iron  pen  and  lead  in  the  rock 
forever ! 


212  LITERATURE   IN  THE   SCHOOL 

"For  I  know  that  my  redeemer  (my  justifier)  liveth,  and  that 
he  shall  stand  in  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth : 

"  And  though  after  my  skin,  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet  in 
my  flesh  I  shall  see  God. 

"  Hear  diligently  my  speech. 

"  Is  my  complaint  to  man  f  and  if  it  were  so,  why  should  not 
my  spirit  be  troubled: 

"  Wherefore  do  the  wicked  live,  become  old,  grow  mighty  in 
power?  " 

"  Even  to-day  is  my  complaint  bitter ;  my  stroke  is  heavier 
than  my  groanings. 

"  Oh,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him !  that  I  might  come 
even  to  his  seat! 

"  I  would  order  my  cause  before  him. 

"  There  the  righteous  might  dispute  with  him. 

"  He  knoweth  the  way  that  I  take :  when  he  hath  tried  me,  I 
shall  come  forth  as  gold/' 

But  in  his  sublime  justification  of  himself,  Job  acknowl- 
edges the  infinite  ways  of  the  Almighty,  and  intimates  that 
the  finite  cannot  comprehend  the  Infinite: 

"  Hell  is  naked  before  him,  and  destruction  hath  no  covering. 

"  He  stretcheth  out  the  North  over  the  empty  place,  and  hangeth 
the  earth  upon  nothing. 

"  He  bindeth  up  the  waters  in  his  thick  clouds,  and  the  cloud  is 
not  rent  under  him. 

"He  holdeth  back  the  face  of  his  throne,  and  spreadeth  his 
cloud  upon  it. 

"  He  hath  compassed  the  water  with  bounds,  until  the  day  and 
the  night  come  to  an  end. 

"  The  pillars  of  heaven  tremble,  and  are  astonished  at  his  re- 
proof. 

"  He  divided  the  sea  with  his  power,  and  by  his  understanding 
he  smiteth  through  the  proud. 

"By  his  spirit  he  hath  garnished  the  heavens:  his  hand  hath 
formed  the  crooked  serpent. 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  213 

"Lo,  these  are  parts  of  his  ways:  but  how  little  a  portion  is 
heard  of  him !  but  the  thunder  of  his  power  who  can  understand  ? 

"  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  wisdom,  and  to  depart  from  evil  is 
understanding." 

The  agony  of  spirit  is  intensified  by  Job's  contrast  be- 
tween his  previous  and  his  present  condition.  He  inten- 
sifies, too,  his  trials  and  vexations  of  spirit  at  the  hands  of 
others,  but  through  it  all  affirms  and  maintains  his  in- 
tegrity : 

"  Oh  that  I  were  as  in  months  past,  as  in  the  days  when  God 
preserved  me: 

"  When  I  went  out  to  the  gate  through  the  city,  when  I  pre- 
pared my  seat  in  the  street ! 

"  The  young  men  saw  me  and  hid  themselves !  and  the  aged 
arose  and  stood  up. 

"  The  princes  refrained  talking,  and  laid  their  hand  on  their 
mouth. 

"  The  nobles  held  their  peace  and  their  tongues  cleaved  to  the 
roof  of  their  mouth. 

"  When  the  ear  heard  me,  then  it  blessed  me,  and  when  the  eye 
saw  me,  it  gave  witness  to  me. 

"Because  I  delivered  the  poor  that  cried,  and  the  fatherless, 
and  him  that  had  none  to  help  him. 

"  The  blessing  of  him  that  was  ready  to  perish  came  upon  me 
and  I  caused  the  widow's  heart  to  leap  for  joy. 

"  I  put  on  righteousness,  and  it  clothed  me,  my  judgment  was 
as  a  rose  and  a  diadem. 

"  I  was  eyes  to  the  blind,  and  feet  was  I  to  the  lame. 

"  I  was  a  father  to  the  poor :  and  the  cause  which  I  knew  not  I 
searched  out. 

"  And  I  brake  the  jaws  of  the  wicked  and  plucked  the  spoil  out 
of  his  teeth." 

This  is  Job's  testimony  of  his  own  inherent  worth  in  an- 
swer to  the  insinuations  of  his  friends  that  he  knew  he 
must  have  practised  hypocrisy  and  deception  in  secret. 


214  LITERATURE    IN   THE    SCHOOL 

In  his  vivid  description  of  the  change  which  has  come 
over  him,  he  intensifies  his  affliction  of  spirit : 

"But  now  they  that  are  younger  than  I  have  me  in  derision, 
whose  fathers  I  would  have  disdained  to  have  set  with  the  dogs 
of  my  flock. 

"  And  now  am  I  their  song,  yea,  I  am  their  by- word. 

"  They  abhor  me,  they  flee  from  me,  and  spare  not  to  spit  in 
my  face. 

"  Terrors  are  turned  upon  me :  they  pursue  my  soul  as  the 
wind:  and  my  welfare  passeth  away  as  a  cloud. 

"  And  now  my  soul  is  poured  out  upon  me ;  the  days  of  my  af- 
fliction have  taken  hold  upon  me. 

"  When  I  looked  for  good,  the  evil  came  unto  me ;  and  when  I 
waited  for  light,  there  came  darkness. 

"  My  harp  also  is  turned  to  mourning,  and  my  organ  into  the 
voice  of  them  that  weep." 

In  protest  against  the  insinuation  that  his  affliction  is 
due  punishment  for  his  evil  doing,  Job  says: 

"  If  I  have  withheld  the  poor  from  their  desire,  or  have  caused 
the  eyes  of  the  widow  to  fail; 

"  Or  have  eaten  my  morsel  myself  alone,  and  the  fatherless 
have  not  eaten  thereof; 

"  If  I  have  seen  any  perish  for  want  of  clothing,  or  any  poor 
without  covering; 

"  If  his  loins  have  not  blessed  me,  and  if  he  were  not  warmed 
with  the  fleece  of  my  sheep; 

"  If  I  have  lifted  up  my  hand  against  the  fatherless,  when  I  saw 
my  help  in  the  gate; 

"  Then  let  mine  arm  fall  from  my  shoulder  blade,  and  mine  arm 
be  broken  from  the  bone." 

"  If  I  have  made  gold  my  hope,  or  have  said  to  the  fine  gold, 
Thou  art  my  confidence: 

"  If  I  rejoiced  because  my  wealth  was  great,  and  because  mine 
hand  had  gotten  much; 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  215 

"This  were  an  iniquity  to  be  punished  by  the  judge,  for  I 
should  have  denied  the  God  that  is  above. 

"  If  I  have  eaten  the  fruits  without  money,  or  have  caused  the 
owners  thereof  to  lose  their  life, — 

"  Let  thistles  grow  instead  of  wheat." 

With  this  pathetic  but  manful  defence  his  three  friends 
were  silenced.  But  Job's  trials  were  not  yet  ended. 

"  Then  was  kindled  the  wrath  of  Elihu  the  son  of  Barachel  the 
Buzite:  against  Job  was  his  wrath  kindled  because  he  justified 
himself  rathei  than  God. 

"  Also  against  the  three  friends  was  his  wrath  kindled  because 
they  had  formed  no  answer  and  yet  had  condemned  Job. 

"  And  Elihu  son  of  Barachel  the  Buzite  said,  I  am  young,  and 
ye  are  very  old. 

"  Days  should  .speak,  and  multitude  of  years  should  teach 
wisdom. 

"  Great  men  are  not  always  wise :  neither  do  the  aged  under- 
stand judgment." 

Then  addressing  himself  directly  to  Job  he  says : 

"  Behold,  I  waited  for  your  words,  I  gave  ear  to  your  reasons. 

"  I  will  open  my  lips  and  answer.  My  words  shall  be  of  the 
uprightness  of  my  heart. 

"  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  thy  words  saying 

"I  am  clean  without  transgression,  I  am  innocent,  neither  is 
there  iniquity  in  me; 

"  Behold,  he  findeth  occasions  against  me,  he  counteth  me  for 
his  enemy. 

"  Behold,  in  this  thou  art  not  just.  I  will  answer  thee  that 
God  is  greater  than  man. 

"  He  looketh  upon  man,  and  if  any  say,  I  have  sinned,  and  per- 
verted that  which  was  right,  and  it  profited  me  not, 

"  He  will  deliver  his  soul,  and  his  life  shall  see  the  light. 

"  Let  us  choose  to  us  judgments,  let  us  know  among  ourselves 
what  is  good. 


216  LITEKATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"  What  man  is  like  Job,  who  drinketh  up  scorning  like  waters. 

"  Which  goeth  in  company  with  the  workers  of  iniquity,  and 
walketh  with  wicked  men. 

"  But,  his  eyes  are  upon  the  ways  of  men,  and  he  seeth  all  his 
goings. 

"  There  is  no  darkness  nor  shadow  of  death  where  workers  of 
iniquity  may  hide  themselves. 

"  He  preserveth  not  the  life  of  the  wicked :  but  giveth  right  to 
the  poor. 

"  He  openeth  the  ear  to  discipline,  and  commandeth  that  they 
return  from  iniquity. 

"  But  if  they  obey  not,  they  shall  die  without  knowledge. 

"  But  the  hypocrites  in  heart  heap  up  wrath.  They  cry  not 
when  he  bindeth  them." 

Then  this  prophet  of  righteous  indignation  directs  Job's 
attention  to  the  illimitable  wisdom  and  power  of  God : 

"  God  thundereth  marvelously  with  his  voice ;  great  things 
doeth  he  which  we  cannot  comprehend. 

"  He  saith  to  the  snow,  Be  thou  on  the  earth,  likewise  the  rain. 

"  He  sealeth  up  the  hand  of  every  man,  that  all  men  may  know 
his  power. 

"  Out  of  the  south  cometh  the  whirlwind,  and  cold  out  of  the 
north. 

"  Hearken  unto  this,  0  Job,  stand  still  and  consider  the  won- 
drous works  of  God. 

"  Dost  thou  know  when  God  disposed  them,  and  caused  the  light 
of  his  cloud  to  shine? 

"  Hast  thou  with  him  spread  out  the  sky,  which  is  strong,  and 
as  a  molten  looking-glass? 

"Fair  weather  cometh  out  of  the  north:  with  God  is  terrible 
majesty. 

"  Touching  the  Almighty,  we  cannot  find  him  out ;  he  is  excel- 
lent in  power,  and  in  judgment,  and  in  plenty  of  justice:  he  will 
not  afflict." 

This   poetic   outburst   prepares  for  the   climax  of  the 


CONTKASTED   STUDIES  217 

drama,  the  magnificent  scene  in  which  the  voice  of  God 
speaks  to  Job  in  the  whirlwind,  saying : 

"  Who  is  this  that  drinketh  up  counsel  by  words  without 
knowledge  ? 

"  Gird  up  now  thy  loins  like  a  man,  for  I  will  demand  of  thee, 
and  answer  thou  me. 

"  Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ? 
declare,  if  thou  hast  understanding. 

"  Who  hath  laid  the  measures  thereof,  if  thou  knowest  ?  or  who 
hath  stretched  the  line  upon  it? 

"  Whereupon  are  the  foundations  thereof  fastened?  or  who  laid 
the  cornerstone  thereof, 

"  When  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of 
God  shouted  for  joy?  " 

"  Hast  thou  commanded  the  morning  since  thy  days ;  and 
caused  the  dayspring  to  know  his  place; 

"  That  it  might  take  hold  of  the  ends  of  the  earth,  that  the 
wicked  might  be  shaken  out  of  it? 

"  Hast  thou  entered  into  the  springs  of  the  seas  ?  or  hast  thou 
walked  in  the  search  of  the  deep? 

"  Hath  the  gates  of  death  been  opened  unto  thee  ?  or  hast  thou 
seen  the  doors  of  the  shadow  of  death  ? 

"  Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or  loose  the 
bands  of  Orion? 

"  Canst  thou  bring  forth  Mazzaroth  in  his  season  ?  or  canst  thou 
bind  Arcturus  with  his  sons? 

"  Who  hath  put  wisdom  in  the  inward  parts?  or  who  hath  given 
understanding  to  the  heart? 

"  Doth  the  hawk  fly  by  thy  wisdom,  and  stretch  her  wings  to- 
ward the  south? 

"  Doth  the  eagle  mount  up  at  thy  command,  and  make  her  nest 
on  high? 

"  Shall  he  that  contendeth  with  the  Almighty  mistrust  him?  he 
that  reproveth  God,  let  him  answer  it." 

This  vastness  of  idea  brings  to  Job  a  new  sense  of  the 


218  LITEKATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

power  and  majesty  of  the  Infinite.    So  he  answers  him  and 
says: 

"  Behold,  I  am  vile ;  what  shall  I  answer  thee  ?  I  will  lay  mine 
hand  upon  my  mouth. 

"  Once  have  I  spoken,  but  I  will  not  answer :  yea,  twice,  but  I 
will  proceed  no  further." 

Again  the  Lord  spoke  to  Job: 

"  Gird  up  thy  loins  now  like  a  man :  I  will  demand  of  thee,  and 
declare  thou  unto  me. 

"Wilt  thou  also  disannul  my  judgment?  Wilt  thou  condemn 
me,  that  thou  mayest  be  righteous? 

"Deck  thyself  now  with  majesty  and  excellency;  and  array 
thyself  with  glory  and  beauty. 

"  Cast  abroad  the  rage  of  thy  wrath :  and  behold  every  one  that 
is  proud,  and  abase  him. 

"  Look  on  every  one  that  is  proud  and  bring  him  low ;  and  tread 
down  the  wicked  in  their  place. 

"  Hide  them  in  the  dust  together ;  and  bind  their  faces  in  secret. 

"  Then  will  I  also  confess  unto  thee  that  thine  own  right  hand 
can  save  thee." 

Job  acknowledges  the  inscrutable  ways  of  the  Almighty 
as  he  says: 

"  I  know  that  thou  canst  do  everything,  and  that  no  thought 
can  be  withheld  from  thee. 

"  Hear,  I  beseech  thee,  and  I  will  speak :  I  will  demand  of  thee, 
and  declare  thou  unto  me. 

"  I  have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear  (physical)  : 
but  now  mine  eye  (spiritual),  seeth  thee. 

"Wherefore  I  abhor  myself,  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes  (of 
spirit). 

Thus  ended  the  trials  of  Job. 

Did  Job  meet  this  test  of  the  spirit  satisfactorily?  Did 
he  preserve  his  integrity? 


CONTKASTED   STUDIES  219 

"  The  Lord  spoke  to  Eliphaz  saying :  My  wrath  is  kindled 
against  thee  and  thy  two  friends,  for  ye  have  not  spoken  of  me 
the  things  that  are  true  nor  right,  as  my  servant  Job  hath." 

This  is  the  testimony  of  word.  Witness  the  testimony 
of  act : 

"  And  the  Lord  restored  unto  Job  his  family,  seven  sons  and 
three  daughters,  and  gave  him  of  wealth,  twice  as  much  as  he  had 
before." 

Thus  Job,  ringing  true  to  the  supremest  test  to  which 
man  can  be  submitted,  proves  that  he  doth  serve  God  for 
nought. 

This,  in  brief,  is  the  great  drama  of  Job.  The  conclu- 
sions which  may  be  drawn  will  be  reserved  for  the  succeed- 
ing chapter. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CONTRASTED   STUDIES   (Concluded) 
Robert  of  Sicily: 

In  each  of  the  poems  studied  in  the  previous  chapters 
the  same  problem  is  presented  for  solution,  the  problem  of 
a  worthy  manhood,  of  individual  worth  and  individual  re- 
sponsibility. In  each  poem,  however,  the  problem  has  an 
individual  setting,  and,  consequently,  moves  in  a  different 
manner  from  the  defining  of  the  problem  to  its  final  solu- 
tion. In  the  first  poem,  "King  Robert  of  Sicily,"  is  set 
the  problem  of  attaining  unto  the  full  stature  of  worthy 
manhood.  In  the  second  poem,  "Saul,"  is  set  the  problem 
of  regaining  a  worthy  and  purposeful  manhood.  In  the 
third  poem,  "Job,"  is  set  the  problem  of  preserving  a 
noble  manhood.  In  the  three  poems  is  set  the  problem  of 
life  and  of  life's  responsibilities. 

In  the  poem  "King  Robert  of  Sicily"  the  central  char- 
acter named  by  the  poem  is  devoid  of  any  dynamic  sense 
of  personal  responsibility  and  of  any  necessity  for  inherent 
worth.  By  virtue  of  the  prerogatives  of  birth,  he  has  at- 
tained wealth  and  place  and  power,  and  by  virtue  of  these 
same  prerogatives  he  lives  unanswerable  to  any  power,  in- 
fluence or  responsibility.  For  him  life  sums  itself  up  in 
wealth,  power  and  position.  Aside  from  these  life  has  no 
opportunities  nor  demands  that  would  give  to  it  dignity 
and  worth.  Within  the  scope  of  these  prerogatives  of  birth 
there  are  no  limitations  determining  action,  no  power  fix- 


CONTKASTED    STUDIES  221 

ing  individual  responsibility,  no  influence  questioning  the 
right  to  leadership.  The  lesson  which  this  king  is  forced 
to  learn,  is  the  lesson  of  humility,  of  self-limitation,  of  indi- 
vidual responsibility  which  always  goes  hand  in  hand  with 
individual  opportunities. 

This  lesson  he  needs  must  learn  through  sorrow  and  pain, 
through  struggle  of  soul  and  anguish  of  spirit,  until  there 
is  born  a  consciousness  of  dignity  and  worth  in  life  which 
inheres  in  the  individual  regardless  of  position,  place  or 
power. 

The  movement  of  this  poem  as  it  concerns  the  character 
about  whom  the  facts  group  themselves  is  toward  self -reve- 
lation and  self-realization.  Conditions  are  made  as  easy 
as  possible  for  the  teaching  of  this  necessary  and  whole- 
some lesson.  The  uplift  of  the  church,  the  embodiment  of 
the  higher  spiritual  forces,  makes  its  appeal,  but  to  the  self- 
sufficient  and  arrogant  king  it  has  neither  message  nor  sig- 
nificance. Slowly  but  surely  move  the  forces  to  bring  home 
the  painful  but  salutary  lesson  of  life.  First,  wealth  and 
position  are  withdrawn  and  he  is  placed  among  the  lowest 
of  the  lowly.  But  so  long  as  there  remain  any  external 
ties  binding  him  to  the  past,  King  Robert  fails  to  learn 
that,  in  the  last  analysis,  individual  responsibilities  are 
accorded  because  of  individual  dignity  and  worth. 

When  the  ties  of  birth  are  denied  him,  the  soul  is  thrown 
in  upon  itself,  and  then  through  struggle  and  pain,  and 
through  sorrow  and  anguish,  does  King  Eobert  come  to  a 
full  consciousness  of  the  prime  essentials  of  manhood,  of 
the  inherent  dignity  and  worth  of  each  individual  life.  In 
this  new  consciousness  he  finds  his  finite  limitations,  he 
finds  the  interrelations  of  the  opportunities  and  responsi- 
bilities of  each  individual  life.  Thus  manhood  is  enthroned 
and  the  King,  by  virtue  of  the  prerogatives  of  birth,  be- 
comes King  by  virtue  of  his  Idngliness  of  character.  This 


222  LITEKATUEE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

is  the  problem  of  manhood  enthroned  through  the  will  and 
the  deed  of  its  possessor. 

Saul: 

In  the  poem  "Saul"  is  found  the  problem  of  regaining 
a  sense  of  individual  responsibility  and  of  personal  worth. 
Saul  has  permitted  his  baser  nature  to  possess  him.  The 
angels  of  his  better  nature  must  regain  possession,  must 
re-enthrone  his  manhood. 

The  poem  opens  with  a  scene  in  which  Saul  has  fallen 
from  the  high  estate  of  purposeful  manhood.  Surfeited 
with  wealth  and  place  and  power,  and  with  no  inducement 
for  further  effort  on  his  part,  since  nothing  remained  to 
be  attained  in  a  worldly  sense,  "The  Great  First  King" 
subtracted  himself  from  the  activities  and  relationships  of 
life  to  live  passively  in  a  hopeless  memory  of  the  past. 

David  with  harp  of  gold  and  soul  of  fire  became  the  great 
spiritual  force  which  awakened  Saul  to  new  light  and  new 
life 

"  till  lie  slowly  resumed 
His  old  motions  and  habitudes  kingly." 

In  his  masterful  song  of  life,  David  threw  Saul  back 
upon  himself,  discovered  him  to  himself;  bore  in  upon  his 
mind  and  spirit  the  lesson  of  life  and  life  relationships,  its 
possibilities,  here  and  hereafter. 

From  family  to  community,  from  community  to  nation, 
from  nation  to  world-wide  influence,  from  past  and  pres- 
ent to  infinite  future,  swell  the  chords  of  this  majestic  song 
bearing  its  theme  in  grand  refrain,  that  individual  oppor- 
tunity and  possibility  are  synonymous  with  individual  re- 
sponsibility ;  that  the  one  cannot  be  denied  nor  the  other 
avoided.  "With  majestic  power  David  iterates  and  reiter- 
ates that  it  is  this  union  of  individual  possibility  and  indi- 


CONTEASTED   STUDIES  223 

vidual  responsibility  which  exalts  human  life  and  gives 
to  the  soul  its  dignity  and  worth. 

In  his  sublime  song  to  Saul,  David  runs  the  gamut  of 
individual  life  and  to  each  soul  reveals  its  mission  and  its 
worth.  In  the  recognition  of  personal  responsibility,  in  the 
realization  of  the  unending  influence  of  the  individual  act, 
in  the  regaining  of  self-mastery  and  self-respect,  in  the 
acceptance  of  life  with  all  of  its  opportunities,  possibili- 
ties, responsibilities,  are  recorded  Saul's  story  of  manhood 
regained.  After  a  period  of  evil  choosing,  the  soul  has 
risen  to  a  former  state  of  dignity  and  worth,  and  all  that 
gave  it  the  true  worth  and  grandeur  of  being  has  been  re- 
enthroned. 

This  poem  differs  from  "Robert  of  Sicily"  in  that  it  is 
the  problem  of  regaining  a  soul-estate  through  the  birth  of 
a  new  consciousness  of  individual  dignity  and  worth,  of 
individual  responsibility. 

Job: 

In  "Job"  is  the  problem  of  manhood  maintained  in  full 
dignity  and  integrity.  Job  feels  his  finite  limitations  in  a 
universe  swayed  by  a  Power  which  he  can  neither  resist 
nor  comprehend.  The  rules  which  govern  man  in  relation 
to  his  fellow-man  he  finds  inapplicable  here : — '  *  How  shall 
a  man  be  just  with  God?  He  destroy eth  the  perfect  and 
the  wicked. ' '  He  feels,  too,  that  his  affliction  is  not  due  to 
any  wrong  on  his  part,  as  in  the  case  of  earthly  punish- 
ment, so  he  exclaims:  "Wherefore  do  the  wicked  live,  be- 
come old,  grow  mighty  in  power?"  As  he  recognizes  no 
earthly  law  in  the  forces  which  control  him,  Job  voices  his 
eternal  protest  against  his  affliction. 

In  the  lamentations  of  Job  and  the  counsel  of  his  friends, 
the  problems  of  pain  and  struggle  are  duly  emphasized. 


224  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"Behold,  happy  is  the  man  whom  God  correcteth;  for  he 
maketh  sore  and  bindeth  up;  he  woundeth  and  his  hands 
make  whole."  In  the  admonishings  of  his  friends  there  is 
voiced  too  the  old  conception  that  misery  and  holiness  go 
hand  in  hand,  a  conception  which  finds  expression  in  mod- 
ern life  in  the  philosophy  of  those  who  do  not  differentiate 
drudgery  from  labor.  Their  creed  seems  to  be:  Be  miser- 
able now.  Wealth  and  fame,  glory  unspeakable,  power  and 
dignity  of  office,  are  just  around  the  corner.  But  despite 
taunt  and  doubt,  Job  finally  realized  that  through  struggle 
and  pain,  through  strain  and  stress,  through  the  torn  tis- 
sues of  the  emotions  and  the  affections,  the  spirit  of  man 
rises  to  a  higher  conception  of  the  problem  of  life  and  its 
meaning.  The  justification  of  the  problems  of  life  is  thus 
voiced  by  Job : 

"  I  have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now  mine 
eye  seeth  thee,  wherefore  I  abhor  myself  and  repent  in  dust  and 
ashes." 

In  Job  himself  there  is  embodied  the  conception  of  a 
mighty  individual  who  in  calm  and  in  tempest  holds  true 
to  his  own  integrity  and  inherent  sense  of  worth.  In  pros- 
perity and  in  adversity  he  justifies  not  only  God 's  ways  to- 
ward man,  but  also  man's  ways  toward  himself.  Sublime 
in  his  self-assurance,  Job  cries  out: 

"  Though  he  slay  me  yet  will  I  trust  him,  but  I  will  maintain 
my  ways  before  him." 

Firm  in  the  belief  of  the  righteousness  of  his  cause,  he 
exclaims : 

"  I  know  that  my  justifier  liveth." 

Though  Job  is  supremely  confident  of  his  own  integrity 
and  worth,  he  is  not  nobly  patient  in  the  midst  of  his  af- 


CONTRASTED   STUDIES  225 

fictions,  rather  is  he  divinely  impatient  for  an  opportunity 
to  plead  his  own  cause,  to  justify  his  own  acts.  In  Job 
there  is  a  great  individual  holding  true  to  himself  in  all 
the  storm  and  stress  of  life  and  to  the  faith  that  asks  not 
reward  and  recognition,  an  individual  who  asserts  and 
maintains  the  sacredness  of  his  individuality.  In  Job  is 
found  the  inherent  loyalty  of  man  to  an  idea — the  loyalty 
that  led  Socrates  to  prefer  freedom  and  the  hemlock  to  life 
and  limitation,  the  loyalty  that  nailed  the  lowly  Man  of 
Nazareth  to  the  cross.  In  him  is  the  precursor  of  the  great 
spirits  that  extended  the  horizon  of  the  world's  downmost 
as  they  thwarted  and  defied  the  purple  and  the  sceptre.  In 
him  there  is  a  supreme  individual,  who,  towering  to  the 
awful  verge  of  manhood,  is  his  own  justification  for  being. 
In  Job  there  is  a  philosophic  answer  to  his  own  unan- 
swered question,  "If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again?" 
Whether  yes  or  no,  the  answer  is,  man  has  to  live  but  one 
life  at  a  time.  Foreshadowed  here  is  the  genesis  of  the  idea 
that  position  and  power  and  external  wealth  may  be  the 
results  of  accident  or  caprice,  but  individual  worth  is  pur- 
posed, and  manhood  enthroned  can  only  be  dethroned  by 
the  will  of  man  himself;  that  man  must  be  measured  by 
his  largeness  of  spirit,  not  by  the  external  show  of  things ; 
that  right  living  pays  dividends  here  and  now;  that  right 
action  is  its  own  justification;  that  neither  by  threat  nor 
bribe  are  the  ways  of  life  thwarted  or  changed,  but  through 
the  stress  and  strain  of  struggle-hours  spiritual  adjust- 
ment is  made.  In  Job,  too,  is  intimated  the  sublime  idea 
that  the  divinity  in  man,  hoping  not  for  reward  nor  seek- 
ing it,  leaps  in  majestic  response  to  the  call  of  the  Divine. 


CHAPTER  XHI 
SUPPLEMENT  A 

Teaching  is  making  conditions  whereby  the  ' '  law 
in  the  mind  "  may  be  applied  to  the  "  fact  in  the 
thing. "  In  the  analysis  of  a  poem  the  teacher  must 
direct  the  thought  of  the  readers  to  the  ideas,  which 
related,  make  up  the  essential  theme  or  purpose  of 
the  poem.  Through  pictures  and  descriptions  the 
setting  of  the  poem  or  selection  to  be  studied  may 
be  made  known  and  some  incidents  revealed.  The 
real  value  of  the  study  of  any  poem  or  selection  by 
maturing  children  is  not  the  knowledge  which  they 
may  obtain  and  which  may  be  furnished  them  by  a 
parrot-like  memorizing  of  what  others  have  thought 
and  said  about  the  poet  or  the  poem  or  of  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  and  out  of  which  it  was  writ- 
ten. The  value  lies  in  the  quality  of  the  thought 
analysis  made  by  the  children.  The  quality  of  this 
thought  analysis  measures  in  an  effective  way  the 
efficiency  of  the  teaching. 

Human  ingenuity  has  devised  no  substitute  for 
the  Socratic  thought-provoking  question.  The  idea 
which  the  form  demands  determines  the  question 
and  also  its  logical  order.  It  should  be  a  question 
which  focuses  the  mind  on  an  idea  embodied  in  the 
form  but  which  doesn't  embody  an  answer  without 


SUPPLEMENT   A  227 

effort.  Questions  should  be  related  and  should 
move  toward  the  theme  or  purpose.  Perhaps  noth- 
ing betrays  the  unskilful  teacher  so  effectively  as 
the  scrappy,  haphazard,  disjointed  questions  which 
she  asks,  her  proneness  to  follow  tangents,  side- 
issues  and  inconsequential  details,  and  her  fond- 
ness for  giving  information  about  the  author  or  the 
selection  which  she  has  heard  or  read,  instead  of 
directing  the  mind  to  the  thought  of  the  selection 
studied  and  then  resting  firm  in  her  assurance  that 
thoughts  which  are  of  value  will  come  to  the  mind 
through  its  own  effort  and  activity.  She  should  be- 
lieve, too,  that  in  a  work  of  art  meaning  is  not 
subtle  nor  obscure,  but  the  form  and  content  are  in 
artistic  and  harmonious  relation  the  one  to  the 
other.  She  should  also  believe  that  a  selection  well 
adapted  to  the  experience  and  power  of  the  class 
may  well  be  analyzed  and  studied  through  the 
directed  efforts  of  the  class.  If  questions  are 
thoughtful  and  thought-provoking,  the  answers  in 
logical  order  of  development  will  make  reason- 
able discourse. 

The  following  study  of  "  Pheidippides  "  is  an 
attempt  to  hint  at  the  questions  which  may  direct 
the  thought  of  the  mind  to  a  study  of  the  text. 

Suggested  Questions  on  the  Study  of  Pheidippides: 

Who  speaks  at  the  opening  of  the  poem  and  for  what 
purpose  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  saluting  gods,  daemons  and 
heroes  1 


228  LITERATURE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

"  Then  I  name  thee  "  refers  to  whom  and  for  what  pur- 


With  whom  is  Pan  compared  ?  What  was  the  dignity  of 
those  gods  in  the  Greece  of  that  period? 

What  is  the  purpose  of  the  curiosity  or  interest  aroused 
by  thus  exalting  Pan? 

To  what  does  ' '  First ' '  refer  in  the  first  line  of  the  poem  ? 
Why  used?  What  the  effect? 

What  is  the  significance  of 

"  Archons  of  Athens,  topped  by  the  tettix,  see,  I  return ! 
See,  'tis  myself  here  standing  alive,  no  spectre  that  speaks ! " 

What  does  the  poet,  through  Pheidippides,  do  for  the 
reader  in  the  remainder  of  the  second  stanza  ? 

What  curiosity  or  interest  is  thus  aroused  in  the  mind  of 
the  reader? 

What  is  suggested  by  ' '  into  their  midst  I  broke  ? ' ' 

What  is  the  significance  of  "breath  served  but  for"  etc.? 

What  must  have  provoked  the  exclamation : 

"  Die,  with  the  wide  world  spitting  at  Sparta,  the  stupid,  the 
stander-by?" 

This  thrust  appealed  to  what  in  the  Spartans? 

In  terms  of  the  errand,  what  is  its  significance? 

In  what  other  manner  is  the  hesitancy  and  jealousy  of 
Sparta  suggested? 

For  what  does  this  information  regarding  the  Spartans 
prepare  the  Athenians?  (Justify  your  answer  from  the 
language  of  the  text.) 

"Has   Persia   come, — does   Athens   ask   aid, — may   Sparta   be- 
friend?" 

suggests  what  of  the  attitude  of  the  Spartans  ? 
The  remainder  of  that  stanza  may  be  classified  how? 


SUPPLEMENT   A  229 

What  effect  had  the  attitude  of  the  Spartans  upon  Phei- 
dippides  ?  How  was  that  effect  shown  ? 

To  what  did  Pheidippides  attribute  the  attitude  of  the 
Spartans  ? 

Why  did  he  chide  the  gods?  What  is  the  significance 
of  his  so  doing  ?  Was  it  a  personal  despair  that  he  voiced  ? 
(Justify  your  answer.) 

What  is  the  significance  of 

"  Fear  in  thee  no  fraud  from  the  blind,  no  lie  from  the  mute ! "  I 

What  is  the  artistic  effect  of  the  chaotic  character  of  the 
country  traversed  hinted  at  by  the  author  and  the  chaotic 
state  of  the  young  man's  mind? 

What  the  artistic  effect  of  introducing  Pan  at  this  point 
in  the  poem? 

What  was  the  attitude  of  Athens  toward  Pan?  What 
the  attitude  of  Pan  toward  Athens?  What  is  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  relationship  in  the  light  of  the  charges  pre- 
ferred against  favored  gods  by  Pheidippides? 

What  tangible  proof  had  Pheidippides  of  his  meeting 
with  Pan  ? 

What  is  revealed  of  Athenian  character  when  his  state- 
ments and  proof  were  received  without  question  or  chal- 
lenge ? 

(This  ends  the  first  movement  of  the  poem  and  satisfies 
the  curiosity  aroused  by  the  eulogy  to  Pan  at  the  opening 
of  the  poem.  Two  other  interests,  however,  have  been  de- 
veloped. One  interest  lies  in  the  doubt  as  to  Pan's  ability 
to  realize  his  promise.  The  other  concerns  the  personal 
reward  promised  Pheidippides  the  nature  of  which  is 
merely  surmised  by  him.  The  introduction  of  Miltiades 
prepares  the  mind  for  the  battle  of  Marathon  where  the 
worth  of  Pan  is  to  be  tested  and  proven.) 


230  LITEEATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

What  tribute  is  paid  Pheidippides  by  Miltiades?  What 
is  the  significance  of  this  tribute? 

What  reply  does  Pheidippides  make? 

How  does  Pheidippides  interpret  this  promise  of  Pan? 

What  is  forecasted  in  ' * Unf oreseeing  one?" 

What  was  the  outcome  of  the  battle  ? 

What  was  its  significance  in  relation  to  Pan  and  his 
promise  ? 

What  was  the  reward  of  Pheidippides  meted  out  by  the 
Athenians?  by  Pan? 

What  was  the  significance  of  Pan's  reward? 

Compare  and  contrast  this  reward  with  the  one  antici- 
pated by  Pheidippides? 

What  is  the  dominant  trait  in  the  character  of  Pheidip- 
pides as  revealed  by  the  poem  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  this  portrayal  of  fidelity  to 
duty? 

What  is  the  quality  of  fidelity  to  duty  that  ends  in  death  ? 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  poem  ? 

Compare  <and  contrast  its  central  idea  with  the  central 
ideas  of  "  Nathan  Hale  "  and  "  Kegulus." 


SUPPLEMENT  B 
Aims  in  Reading: 

(a)  To  train  in  methods  of  study. 

(b)  To  develop  logical,  organic  thinking. 

(c)  To  lead  to  an  appreciation  of  literary  values. 

(d)  To  make  conscious  of  worthy  ideals  as  fundamen- 
tal life  influences. 

(e)  To   express  thought,   feeling  and  emotion  worthily 
when  couched  in  artistic  form. 


SUPPLEMENT  0  231 

Suggested  movement  in  study: 

(The  Great  Stone  Face.) 

(a)  The  problem  set. 

(b)  The  influence  of  the  ideal— (The  Great  Stone  Face) 
— in  general. 

(c)  The  influence  of  the  ideal   in  particular    (i.   e.,   on 
Ernest). 

(d)  Tests  of  fidelity  to  great  ideal: 

(1)  Test  of  Boyhood— (Wealth  as  the  ideal). 

(2)  Test  of  Youth— (Military  Fame  as  the  ideal). 

(3)  Test    of    Middle-age — (Oratory    and    States- 
manship as  the  ideal). 

(4)  Test  of  Old-age— (The  Poetic  and  Prophetic 
vision  as  the  ideal). 

(e)  The  revealment. 

(f)  The  life  influence  of  a  great  ideal. 

(g)  Is  the  ideal  attainable  ? 

(h)  Is  the  idealist  necessarily  impractical  ? 


SUPPLEMENT  C 
Helpful  Books  for  Teachers: 

ARNOLD,  SARAH  LOUISE,  How  to  Teach  Reading. 

BAKER,  GEORGE  P.,  Development  of  Shakspere  as  a 
Dramatist. 

BRYANT,  SARA  C.,  How  to  Tell  Stories. 

CLARK,  S.  H.,  How  to  Teach  Reading  in  the  Public 
Schools. 

CORSON,  HIRAM,  The  Aims  of  Literary  Study. 

Cox,  J.  HARRINGTON,  Literature  in  the  Common  Schools, 


232  LITEBATUKE   IN   THE   SCHOOL 

GARDINER,  JOHN  H.,  The  Bible  as  English  Literature. 

HALL,  JENNIE,  Men  of  Old  Greece. 

HUEY,  EDMUND  B.,  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Read- 
ing. 

McCLiNTOCK,  PORTER  L.,  Literature  in  the  Elementary 
School. 

MOULTON,  RICHARD  G.,  Shakspere  as  a  Dramatic  Artist. 

MOULTON,  Shakspere  as  a  Dramatic  Thinker. 

PYLE,  HOWARD,  Adventures  of  Merry  Robin  Hood. 

SHAIRP,  JOHN  C.,  Aspects  of  Poetry. 

STEDMAN,  E.  C.,  Nature  of  Poetry. 

STOCKTON,  FRANK  R.,  Fanciful  Tales. 

TRENT,  WILLIAM  P.,  Greatness  in  Literature. 

WOODBERRY,  GEORGE  EDWARD,  Appreciation  of  Litera- 
ture. 

WOODBERRY,  The  Torch. 


INDEX 


ABNER,  180,  193. 

ACHILLES,  32. 

AGE  OF  CHIVALRY,  34. 

ALCESTIS,  self-sacrifice  of,  24,  27. 

AMERICAN  PUBLIC  SCHOOL,  THE, 
11,  12,  19;  aim  of,  14,  15;  an- 
nual expenditures  on,  52;  con- 
trolling ideas  of,  89. 

ANGELO,  MICHAEL,  25. 

ANTIGONE,  devotion  of,  24,  27. 

APOLLO,  legend  of,  31. 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW,  quoted,  22. 

ARNOLD,  SARAH  LOUISE,  231. 

ATHENS,  150,  151,  152,  153,  154, 
155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161. 

BAKER,  GEORGE  P.,  231. 

Bible,  The,  see  Scriptures. 

BILDAD,  the  Shuhite,  210. 

BIOGRAPHY,  teaching  of,  33. 

BLACK,  Prof.  W.  W.,  60. 

Bremen-Town  Musicians,  The 
(adapted  from  Grimm),  quoted, 
77-80;  development  of  the 
story,  80,  81. 

BROWNING,  ROBERT,  quoted,  34, 
150-155,  180-192. 

BRYANT,  SARA  C.,  231. 

Building  of  the  Ship,  The  (Longfel- 
low), quoted  from,  60,  61. 

BURBANK,  LUTHER,  53. 

CAPE  COD,  61. 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS,  quoted,  22. 

CARTHAGE,  144, 145, 146, 148, 149. 

Challenge  of  Thor,  The  (Longfel- 
low), quoted,  98;  suggested  ques- 
tions, 99;  thought  analysis,  99. 

CHILDHOOD,  defined,  15. 

CINDERELLA,  story  of,  30. 

CLARK,  Prof.,  quoted,  21. 

CLARK,  S.  H.,  231. 

COLUMBUS,  25. 

CONCEPT,  THE,  defined,  94. 


CONTRASTED  STUDIES,  163-225; 
Book  of  Job,  207, 223;  Saul,  180, 
222;  The  Sicilian's  Tale,  163, 
220. 

CORRELATION,  a  travesty  on,  61. 

CORSON,  HIRAM,  231. 

Cox,  J.  HARRINGTON,  231. 

Daffodils,      The      (Wordsworth), 

quoted,  109. 

DALE,  THOMAS,  quoted,  143-145. 
DARWIN,  CHARLES,  25. 
DAVID,  181,   193,  194,   195,  196, 

197, 199,  201,  202,  203,  204,  205, 

206,  222,  223. 
Day  is  Done,   The  (Longfellow), 

quoted,  107,  108. 
DICKENS,  CHARLES,  quoted,  58. 
DRAMATIZATION,  59-63. 
DUNBAR,  P.  L.,  quoted,  106. 

Each  and  Att  (Emerson),  quoted 

from,  105. 
EDISON,  25. 

EDUCATION,  denned,  48. 
ELAINE,  30. 

ELIPHAZ,  the  Temanite,  210,  219. 
EMERSON,  R.  W.,  quoted,  22,  105. 
EMPEROR  VALMOND,  163, 164, 167, 

168,  169,  172,  174,  175. 
Evangeline  (Longfellow),  58. 
EXPRESSION,  modes  of,  57,  58,  60; 

oral,  see  READING. 

FAIRY  TALES,  29,  30,  67;  function 
of,  31,  32. 

FINCH,  FRANCIS  M.  (quoted),  135- 
137. 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Watt  (Ten- 
nyson), 34. 

FORM  AND  CONTENT,  relation  be- 
tween, 41,  42,  43,  44,  46,  49,  55, 
56,  57,  76,  89,  92,  100,  227. 


234 


INDEX 


GALILEO,  25. 

GARDINER,  JOHN  H.,  232. 

GETHSEMANE,  Garden  of,  26,  140. 

Great  Stone  Face,  The  (Haw- 
thorne), quoted,  110-125;  sug- 
gested movement  in  study,  231; 
thought  analysis,  125-134. 

GRIMM,  adaptations  from,  quoted, 
73-76,  77-80. 

GUINEVERE,  30. 

HALL,  JENNIE,  232. 
Hamlet  (Shakspere),  59. 
HARPER,  Dr.,  quoted,  39. 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  quoted, 

110-125. 
HELPFUL  BOOKS  FOR  TEACHERS, 

231. 

HERCULES,  32. 
HERO  TALES,  teaching  of,  32, 33, 67, 

68. 
Hiawatha     (Longfellow),     quoted 

from,  56. 
HISTORY,  denned,  33;    study  of 

heroes  of,  33. 
HOLY  LAND,  THE,  36. 
HUEY,  EDMUND  B.,  232. 

IDEALS,  and  the  school,  52,  53,  54; 
in  childhood,  15;  in  Nathar  Hale, 
137,  140;  in  The  Great  Stone 
Face,  126,  127,  128,  129,  130, 
131,  132,  133,  134,  231;  in  The 
Sicilian's  Tale,  173,  174,  176, 
177,  179;  realized  through  edu- 
cation, 16;  taught  by  literature, 
21,  30,  32,  33,  34.  48,  54,  67. 

Idylls  of  the  King  (Tennyson),  34. 

IMAGINATION,  expressed  by  dram- 
atization, 59,  60;  function  of, 
25,  26;  in  literature,  24,  57;  in 
psychology,  92;  in  reading,  40, 
45,  47;  in  the  study  of  Nathan 
Hak,  137,  139;  in  the  study  of 
Regulus,  146,  147;  in  the  study 
of  Saul,  194,  195,  201;  of  the 
schoolboy,  90;  strengthened  by 
story-telling,  63,  66,  67. 

IMITATION,  a  starting-place,  45, 90. 

In  School  Days  (Whittier),  68. 

IRVING,  Sir  HENRY,  59. 


JASON  and  the  Golden  Fleece,  leg- 
end of,  31,  32. 

JESSE,  the  Bethlehemite,  193. 

JINGLES,  use  of,  30,  63,  66. 

Job,  Book  of,  mentioned,  179,  220; 
problem  discussed,  223-225; 
thought  analysis,  207-219. 

JONES,  quoted,  46. 

JUDGMENT,  90;  defined,  94;  in- 
cited in  reading,  45,  48. 

KING  ROBERT  OF  SICILY,  see 
Robert  of  Sicily. 

Lead  Kindly  Light  (Newman), 
quoted,  36. 

LEGENDS,  29,  30,  67,  68;  function 
of,  31,  32. 

LEIGH,  AURORA,  quoted,  59. 

LITERATURE,  appreciation  of,  35; 
and  the  reading  problem,  37-50, 
69,  70;  denned,  21,  22,  23,  24, 
27;  function  of,  15,  26-28,  54, 
55;  in  the  elementary  school, 
16,  19,  30,  34,  63;  its  scope  and 
purpose,  20-28;  method  of 
teaching,  91;  methods  in,  51- 
70;  movement  in,  30-36;  proc- 
ess in  study  of,  40;  purpose  of 
studying,  30,  62;  selection  of, 
34;  types  defined,  30-36. 

Little  Red  Hen,  A  (adapted  from 
Mrs.  Whitney),  quoted,  81-83; 
development  of  story,  83. 

LOKI,  31. 

LONG  ISLAND,  137. 

LONGFELLOW,  H.  W.,  quoted,  56, 
60,  61,  98,  99, 107, 108, 163-169. 

LOWELL,  J.  R.,  quoted,  58. 

MAN  OF  NAZARETH,  26,  32,  225. 

MANSFIELD,  RICHARD,  59. 

MARATHON,  Battle  of,  154,  155, 
229. 

MARCONI,  25. 

McCiJNTOCK,  PORTER  L.,  232. 

MCSPADDEN,  T.  WALKER,  adapta- 
tion from,  quoted,  83-88. 

MEDITERRANEAN,  THE,  36. 

MEMORIZING,  57,  100,  107,  226; 
words  memorized,  70. 


INDEX 


235 


MEMORY,  90,  91,  92;  defined,  94; 
gems,  63. 

METHODS  IN  LITERATURE,  see  LIT- 
ERATURE. 

MILTIADES,  153,  160,  229,  230. 

MOULTON,  RICHARD,  G.,  232. 

MYTHS,  29,  30,  67,  68;  defined,  31. 

Nathan  Hale  (Finch),  quoted,  135- 

137;  discussed,  150,   162,  230; 

thought  analysis,  137-142. 
Nauhaught,  the  Deacon  (Whittier), 

quoted  from,  61. 
NEW  ENGLAND,  61. 
NEWMAN,  Cardinal,  35,  36;  quoted, 

36. 

NIOBE,  story  of,  31. 
NORTON,  C.  E.,  quoted,  22. 
NURSERY  RHYMES,  use  cf,  30,  63. 

ODIN,  31. 

OLD  WORLD,   ideals  of,   11,   14; 

system,  12. 
OLIVER,  32. 

ORAL  READING,  see  READING. 
ORIENT,  THE,  36. 

PAN,  150,  153,  154,  155,  159,  160, 
161. 

Paracelsus  (Browning),  quoted 
from,  34. 

PARIS,  32. 

PARKER,  Col.,  quoted,  31. 

PERCEPTION,  90,  92;  defined,  94. 

PERRY,  quoted,  28. 

PETER,  33. 

Pheidippides  (Browning),  quoted, 
150-155;  suggested  questions 
on  the  study  of,  227-230; 
thought  analysis,  155-162. 

POPE  URBANE,  163,  164,  167,  168, 
169,  172,  174,  176. 

PRESIDENT,  A  great,  virile,  14. 

PROMETHEAN  FAITH,  27. 

PROMETHEUS,  agony  of,  24. 

PSYCHOLOGY,  and  the  reading  prob- 
lem, 89-109;  defined,  92;  of 
mind  movement,  94;  of  the 
teacher,  93;  suggested  studies, 
95-109. 

PYLE,  HOWARD,  232. 


READING,  aims  in,  230;  art  of 
teaching,  56;  defined,  37,  38,  39, 
40;  fourfold  purpose  in  teaching 
of,  48,  49;  perversion  of  func- 
tion of,  41,  42;  teaching  of  oral, 
44,  45,  46,  47;  test  of  oral  ex- 
pression in,  57. 

READING  PROBLEM,  The,  37,  38; 
defined,  39;  literature  and,  37- 
50,  69,  70;  phases  of,  43. 

REASON,  90;  defined,  94;  incited 
in  reading,  45,  48. 

Regulus  (Dale),  quoted,  143-145; 
mentioned,  142,  162,  230; 
thought  analysis,  145-150. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  quoted,  see  The 
Sicilian's  Tale;  problem  dis- 
cussed, 220-222,  223. 

Robin  Hood  and  Little  John  (adap- 
ted from  McSpadden's  "Robin 
Hood"),  quoted.  83-88. 

ROME,  143, 144, 1*5, 146, 147, 148, 
150. 

ROSTAND,  EDMOND,  quoted,  62. 

Russian  Legend,  A,  quoted,  71-73. 


Samuel,  First  Book  of  (xvi:  14- 
20),  quoted,  193. 

Sandpiper,  The  (Thaxter),  quoted, 
95;  suggested  questions  on  text, 
97;  thought  analysis,  96. 

SAUL,  soul-struggle  of,  27;  Scrip- 
ture story  of,  quoted,  193. 

Saul  (Browning),  quoted,  180-192; 
mentioned,  179,  220;  problem 
discussed,  222,  223;  thought 
analysis,  193-206. 

SAVONAROLA,  26. 

SCHOOL,  The,  aim  and  purpose  of, 
14,  15,  51,  52,  53;  defined,  17, 
33,  93;  does  not  give  necessary 
experiences,  89;  of  the  future, 
19.  See  also  AMERICAN  PUBLIC 
SCHOOL. 

Scriptures,  The,  34;  quoted,  26,  65, 
140, 193,  207,  208,  209,  210, 211, 
212,  213,  214,  215,  216,  217, 218, 
219. 

SENSATIONS,  denned,  93;  men- 
tioned, 92,  94. 


236 


INDEX 


SENTENCE-PARAGRAPH,  fallacy  of 
the,  69,  70. 

SHAIRP,  JOHN  C.,  232. 

SHAKSPERE,  35,  59. 

SHELLEY,  P.  B.,  quoted,  28. 

Sicilian's  Tale,  The  (Longfellow), 
quoted,  163-169;  thought  anal- 
ysis, 169-179.  See  Robert  of 
Sicily. 

SICILY,  163,  164,  166,  168,  169, 
170,  172,  176,  178. 

SIEGFRIED,  24,  31. 

Sleeping  Beauty  (adapted  from 
Grimm),  quoted,  73-76. 

SOCRATES,  26,  225. 

SOCRATIC  QUESTION,  THE,  226. 

Solitary  Reaper,  The  (Words- 
worth), quoted,  101;  quoted  from, 
64;  suggested  questions,  106, 
107;  thought  analysis,  102-106. 

SPARTA,  150,  151,  156,  157,  158. 

SPECIALIZATION,  deferring  of,  17, 
19. 

SPIRITUAL  ENVIRONMENT,  29-36. 

STEDMAN,  E.  C.,  232. 

STOCKTON,  FRANK  R.,  232. 

STORIES,  basis  for  selection,  67-69; 
of  heroic  deeds,  29;  to  be  read 
by  children,  76;  type,  see  TYPE 
STORIES. 

STORY,  The,  reproduction  of,  66; 
use  of,  in  moral  training,  65. 

STORY-TELLING,  63-65;  form  of, 
71;  manner  of,  65,  66. 

SUPPLEMENT,  A,  226;  B,  230;  C, 
231. 


TEACHER,  THE,  18;  as  a  story- 
teller, 65,  66,  67,  71;  duty  of,  in 
oral  reading,  44,  45,  46,  48,  49, 
50;  inspiration  of  the  work  of, 
51;  psychology  of,  93;  shapes 
the  future,  52,  53,  54;  the  true 
psychologist,  92;  the  unskilful, 


TEACHERS,  number  and  impor- 
tance, 51,  52. 

TEACHING,  art  of,  defined,  47;  as  a 
profession,  93;  defined,  48,  91, 
92,  226;  essence  of,  51. 


13 


TECHNICAL  TRAINING,  dangers  of, 
13,  16,  18. 

TENNYSON,  ALFRED,  34,  35. 

THOR,  31;  The  Challenge  of  Thor 
(Longfellow),  quoted,  98-99. 

THOUGHT  ANALYSIS,  defined,  100, 
102;  of  Nathan  Hale,  137;  of 
Pheidippides,  155;  of  Regulus, 
145;  of  Saul,  193;  of  The  Book 
of  Job,  207;  of  The  Challenge  of 
Thor,  99;  of  The  Great  Stone 
Face,  125;  of  The  Sandpiper, 
96;  of  The  Sicilian's  Tale,  169; 
of  The  Solitary  Reaper,  102; 
quality  of,  226. 

TRADE  SCHOOLS,  11,  13,  14. 

TRENT,  WILLIAM  P.,  232. 

TROY,  fields  of,  24,  32. 

TYPE  STORIES,  71-88;  A  Little  Red 
Hen,  81;  A  Robin  Hood  Story, 
83;  A  Russian  Legend,  71; 
Sleeping  Beauty,  73;  The  Bre- 
men-Town Musicians,  77. 

TYPE  STUDIES,  135-162;  Nathan 
Hale,  135;  Pheidippides,  150; 
Regulus,  143. 

Vision  ofSirLaunfal,  The  (Lowell), 
quotedjrom,  58. 

VOLKSCHULE  OF  GERMANY,  THE, 
12. 


WARNER,  CHARLES  DUDLEY, 
quoted,  33. 

WASHINGTON,  GEORGE,  34,  116, 
137. 

WEBSTER,  DANIEL,  34. 

WHITNEY,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.,  adapta- 
tion from,  quoted,  81-83. 

WHITTIER,  J.  G.,  58;  quoted,  61. 

WILL,  90;  an  educated,  26;  de- 
fined, 94;  impelled  in  reading, 
45,  47. 

WOODBERRY,      GEORGE     E.,     232; 

quoted,  23. 

WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM,  quoted, 
64,  101-102,  109. 

ZOPHAR,  the  Naamathite,  210. 


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